


Don't

by tricia_16



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol as a Coping Mechanism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Case, Bunker Fic, Canon-Typical Violence, Cat Castiel (Supernatural), Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, Nightmares, Oral Sex, Sex in/on the Impala (Supernatural), Slow Burn, Supportive Sam Winchester, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, map table sex, season 14
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-03-02 19:50:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 97,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18817825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tricia_16/pseuds/tricia_16
Summary: After nine days of radio silence from both Jack and Cas, Cas returns to the bunker without Jack—with black fur, four paws, a tail, and an obvious preference for Dean's company. With no idea how to turn Cas back or how he got turned into a cat in the first place, Dean has to learn to live with Cas quite literally underfoot all the damn time. Nobody could have guessed that having his best friend in cat form would end up being the catalyst for a huge shift in their relationship, but looking back, he's pretty sure it all started with an annoyingly stubborn ball of fur...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the beginning of another brand-new fic! Once again, I am lucky enough to have [Brianna](https://twitter.com/bookbag09) and [Eliza](https://twitter.com/The_Cake_Wench) working with me as my betas and encouragement team. They're fantastic, so any typos you might see are changes I've made after they found all the other ones haha
> 
> As you may have noticed on the cover of this fic, a new friend of mine volunteered to do some art for this fic and it has absolutely blown me away! [Nikkole](https://twitter.com/NP_Infiniteart) did all of the art you'll see in this fic just out of the goodness of her heart! PLEASE go follow her on Twitter and tell her how amazing she is, OR check out her Redbubble [HERE!](https://www.redbubble.com/people/npinfiniteart/works/39037408-catstiel?asc=u&p=sticker)
> 
> Now for the story...
> 
> You know I don't often write canon. I find it very intimidating and difficult to keep all of the characters true to their characters on the show, which is why it takes me about four times as long to write a canon story vs an AU. I tried really, really hard to do these characters justice, but please be patient and kind if they end up slightly different. This is fan fic, so I'm hoping no one will take it too close to heart.
> 
> Anyway, with all that said, I hope you enjoy this story!

“You still haven’t heard anything from him?” Sam asks.

Even though it’s pitch dark outside, Dean turns to look out his window so Sam can’t see the effort it takes to school his face into a convincingly blank expression. “Nope.”

There’s a beat of silence that means Sam’s not buying what he’s trying to sell, but thankfully, instead of nagging him, he placates. “I’m sure he’s fine. He’s an angel, right?”

“Yeah.”

His response is clipped and pointless because they both know there’s no way Cas is fine if he dropped off the map for this long without a word. It’s been nine days. It’s not out of the ordinary for Cas to need to stretch his legs or whatever the hell he does when he leaves the bunker, but nine days of complete radio silence is about seven days too long.

“Anything from Jack?” Dean asks Sam.

Sam’s frown is answer enough. What the hell are those two up to? And why can’t he and Sam ever catch a fucking break?

A few minutes later, he’s steering the Impala off of the main road onto the little dirt path that leads to the bunker when his headlights flash on something small darting out in front of them. He slams on the brakes at the same time Sam cries, “Watch it!” Now at a complete stop, they both look out their windows into the night. “What _was_ that?” Sam asks.

“Rabbit or something?” Dean wonders aloud.

Sam makes a noncommittal sound of agreement. “Did you hit it?”

“Only one way to find out,” Dean says, putting the car in park and opening his door.

And that’s when he sees it.

A sleek short-haired black cat, sitting right outside his door with a patch of long, disheveled fur sticking up on the top of its head, blinking up at him with big, blue eyes. Blue eyes that Dean would have to be blind not to recognize, even if they are currently on a cat. “Uh,” is the first eloquent remark he comes up with, but just that has the cat tilting his head to the side and squinting his eyes at him.

Yeah, the little furball might as well be wearing a damn trench coat.

“Cas?” Dean asks quietly, feeling like an idiot for talking to a cat, but the cat lets out an answering _meow_ and holy shit! _Cas is a cat!_

He barely has the dots connected in his head when the damn thing leaps on him, two heavy paws landing straight on his chest and the other two in his lap _just_ missing his crotch.

“What the hell?” Sam asks, understandably surprised by the sight of a cat on Dean’s chest.

Dean opens his mouth to explain, but that’s when the cat headbutts him under his chin and starts purring. Loudly.

Sam laughs lightly beside him. “Think it likes you.”

“Pretty sure _it_ is Cas,” Dean says, which gets another _meow_ straight from the cat’s mouth.

“Cas?” Sam asks, leaning over his shoulder to get a better look at the cat who is still resting with his front paws on his chest. “Wait, what? Cas is a cat?”

_Meow._

Dean looks over his shoulder at Sam, eyebrows raised in a silent, _What the fuck do we do now?_

Sam clears his throat and says, “Okay. Well. Cas? If you can understand us, why don’t you come on over here so Dean can drive and we’ll get you back home, okay?”

Cas headbutts him again, rubs his furry face along Dean’s cheek, then slinks past him to turn around and around on Sam’s lap before he sits facing Dean, blinking at him. Dean gives his head a shake and wipes off the fur that’s stuck to his scruff as he settles back in his seat and closes the door.

He can’t believe he has a freaking cat in his car.

“Easy on the leather with the claws,” Dean tells Cas, glancing at him enough to see the way his tail twitches irritably in response.

“He isn’t even on the leather, he’s sitting on me,” Sam reminds him, petting down Cas's back.

“There’s something I never thought I’d hear,” Dean quips, pushing past the twinge he feels in his chest from hearing Sam say something like that.

He chuckles when Sam gives him an irritated look that somehow matches Cas’s (without the tail twitching), then he puts the car in drive and follows the dirt road back to the bunker. He jerks when he feels a bump to his elbow and glances down to Cas blinking those big blue eyes at him hopefully.

Just like when he’s his normal trench-coated self, his gaze is piercing and unsettling, so he looks back at the road only to get his arm bumped again.

He huffs and says, “You’re not comin’ on my lap when I’m driving.” Another bump. Sam’s failing to stifle his laugh. “Cut it out, Cas,” Dean says firmly.

He gets an angry sounding _meow_ for that and Sam only laughs harder. Cas bumps him _again,_ and Dean threatens, “If you make me steer Baby off this shitty excuse for a road I’m gonna feed you to a hell hound.”

“Ow! Cas, careful!” Sam exclaims. Dean looks over at him in alarm, and Sam says, “His claws are digging into my legs!”

“If you fuck up the leather, Cas, I swear to god,” Dean grits out.

“Screw the leather, he’s shredding my jeans! He’s going in the back seat,” Sam says, grabbing him around his middle like he’s gonna toss him over his shoulder.

 _“Don’t!”_ Dean says sharply.

Fuming, jaw set, he begrudgingly moves his arm out of the way so Cas can crawl into his lap where he curls into a little ball between his legs and starts purring like he could care less that Dean is seriously considering tossing him out the window.

He doesn’t even have to look at Sam to know the little shit has a smirk on his face, and the _second_ his mouth opens to say something, Dean cuts him off with, “Shut up, Sam.”

“I wasn’t gonna say anything,” Sam defends. Then, under his breath like that makes it better, he mutters, “Except that I _always_ knew I’d find him in your lap someday.”

Dean’s jaw remains firmly clenched, swallowing down every retort he comes up with so he doesn’t give Sam the satisfaction of knowing he rattled him with that ridiculous, _baseless_ (accurate) comment, and he drives carefully into the garage. As soon as he parks and opens the door, Cas hops out and lands gracefully on the ground. He and Sam walk into the bunker with Cas trotting alongside them and settle at the map table with a few beers.

Cas sits next to his seat and stares up at him.

Dean pointedly ignores him and looks at Sam instead. “What the hell do we do now?”

Sam blows out a long breath and runs his hands through his hair. “Start researching about how an angel gets turned into a cat?”

“Well, yeah, but what about Jack?”

_Meow._

Dean looks down at Cas. “He’s gotta know where he is.”

This time, Cas’s _meow_ comes out decidedly negative. Dean looks back at Sam. “Gonna take that as a no.” Sam nods his agreement, pushing his hair out of his face yet again. “Then I guess we deal with this,” Dean says, gesturing to Cas, “in the meantime. He’s gonna need food and shit, right?”

“Mmhmm,” Sam hums. “And speaking of shit, he’s definitely going to need a litter box.”

Dean curls his lips in disgust at the very thought. “I am _not_ picking up Cas’s shit.”

“Technically it’s a cat’s shit,” Sam reminds him.

“Great, so you can pick up the cat’s shit then, ‘cause I aint.”

Sam looks decidedly unimpressed, but then he looks at Cas curiously and says, “I wonder if he could use the toilet.”

Dean brightens immediately. “He can. If he knows what we’re sayin’—” He looks down at Cas again, who is not surprisingly looking right back up at him. “—and he does. Right, Cas?”

_Meow._

“Then he can use the toilet. That cat on Meet The Fockers did it.”

“That’s a movie,” Sam says dryly.

Dean rests his elbows on the table, leaning forwards to put his head in his hands as exhaustion with the situation combines with the stress of the day and swamps him all of the sudden. They drove through most of the night and all day today, and he’s tired as hell and his back and knee are killing him. “And Cas is an angel. He can figure it out," he insists tiredly.

He startles when Cas leaps up onto the map table and walks right over to him, once again bumping his furry head against Dean’s and starting to purr while he curls up between his arms. Dean leans back in his seat and folds his arms across his chest. Cas stops purring and stares at him with narrowed eyes for several long seconds before he starts licking his paws.

He looks away but can _feel_ Cas looking at him while he keeps grooming himself.

“How is he more annoying as a cat than a person?” he asks, more to himself than Sam.

“He’s probably just freaked out and looking for a little comfort from a familiar face,” Sam says.

“Well he’s meowing up the wrong tree, ‘cause I don’t even like cats.”

The wet, rhythmic sound of Cas licking his paws stops immediately, and Dean doesn’t need to look down at the little furball to know he’s getting the look of death from a damn cat—and honestly, how is this his life?

“I think you hurt his feelings,” Sam says, running a hand down his face and over his mouth in a terrible attempt at hiding his smile.

“Cas already knows I don’t like cats. He doesn’t care.”

“Maybe he cares now that he _is_ a cat,” Sam says unhelpfully.

“Guess we gotta get him out of the fur suit, then,” Dean comments, pausing to give into a yawn. “Tomorrow, though, ‘cause I’m beat.” When he pushes away from the table, Cas gets up on all fours, watching him intently. He still feels like an idiot talking to a cat, but he pushes that down and addresses Cas anyway. “Sam’ll get you some water and figure out something for you to eat in case you’re hungry, and we’ll tackle the cat thing in the morning. Just, uh, go sleep it off in your room. Maybe we’ll luck out and you’ll wake up back to normal and Jack’ll be home, too.” He gives Sam a nod. “‘night, man.”

As he walks down the hall towards his room, he can hear Sam say, “Are you hungry? I think we have some canned tuna around here,” followed by an enthusiastic sounding _meow_ that makes him smile despite himself.

He goes through the motions of getting ready for bed, but when he walks back into his room freshly showered in sleep pants and his dead guy robe, Cas is lying on the floor on top of the red flannel he took off before he showered.

Dean stops short and runs a hand through his still damp hair. “Hey,” Dean says. “I’m gonna hit the hay, so why don’t you go curl up in your own room, huh?” Cas stays exactly where he is, staring at him and making Dean run his tongue along the inside of his cheek in annoyance. “You freaked out or something like Sam said?”

Cas pushes up to all fours and leaps up onto the edge of the bed, closer to where Dean’s standing. He sits like a good little cat and looks up at him with his tail swishing.

“This is stupid,” Dean decides. “If you can understand me, then you communicate back. Blink once for yes.”

_Blink._

“Ah ha!” Dean says triumphantly. “So, what? You lonely or something?”

_Yes._

Dean fiddles with the tie of his robe, uncomfortable now that Cas actually confirmed that. “Okay, well, Sam’s probably still awake, so just go bug him, okay? I’m wiped.”

_Blink, blink._

Dean frowns. “So what? Once for yes, two for no?”

_Yes._

Dean pins him with a hard look. “Fine. Don’t go see Sam, I don’t care, but you’re getting outta my room.”

_No._

“Dude, you’re like, ten pounds. I’ll just pick your ass up and toss you out the door.” Cas’s eyes narrow and his toes flex menacingly on his blankets, showing off his claws. Dean huffs in disbelief. “You’re gonna try and scratch my eyes out or something?”

_Yes._

“This is fucking stupid,” Dean says to himself. Then to Cas, he says, “Listen. If you’re feeling weird or whatever ‘cause you got yourself turned into a cat, I get it, and I feel for you. I really do. But you’re still Cas and you’re not sleeping with me in my bed.” Cas just keeps _looking at him,_ and as annoyed as he is with his stubborn ass friend, he’s more tired than anything. “Okay, fine. You can stay in my room if you want, but the bed’s off limits. Capice?”

Cas stretches with his paws straight out in front of him and his back arched, ass and tail straight up in the air while he lets out a soundless yawn, then he hops onto the floor.

“Fuckin’ finally,” Dean says under his breath. He shuts his door, flips off the light, drops his dead guy robe on the ground and climbs in under his covers. He sighs happily at the feeling of his beloved memory foam supporting his tired frame, and waits for his eyes to adjust to the dark to seek out Cas just to make sure he’s actually going to keep his furry ass on the floor.

He can’t even pretend to be shocked to see Cas curl into a little ball directly on top of his robe, but the purring when he’s all alone on the floor is a little weird.

“You try to steal that to sleep in when you’re back to a squinty-eyed angel and we’re gonna have words,” Dean says tiredly. Cas just keeps on purring, and nobody’s less surprised than himself when he falls asleep within seconds, lulled to sleep by the steady, comforting sound and the reassurance that Cas is safe for the first time in nine days.

He’s woken up by something cold and wet nudging his hand some time later. He opens one eye reluctantly to see Cas’s blue eyes blinking at him before his nose nudges him again. “What?” Dean asks grouchily. Cas lies on his side and uses his back paws to push himself along Dean’s arm, meowing pathetically. “No, go’way,” Dean grunts, giving him a little shove and rolling over so his back is to the cat.

He groans when Cas just climbs over his back, razor-sharp claws digging into him through his blankets as he goes, until Cas headbutts him right in the forehead.

“Whaddya want?” he whines. This is exactly why he doesn’t want any damn pets. He wants to _sleep_ at night, not be pestered by a fucking cat.

Cas noses at his hand again, and Dean lets him nudge it so it’s palm up, thinking if Cas gets what he wants without it being weird he can just fall back asleep. Cas rubs his face along Dean’s palm twice, once for each side of his face, then lies down with his chin right in the middle of his hand and starts purring up a storm.

He keeps eye contact for about five seconds, letting Cas know with the glare he’s giving him how not cool this is, but then he falls back asleep with his warm, fuzzy face still in his hand.

The next time he wakes up it’s because something is tickling his nose, and when he whacks at it absentmindedly, he realizes the _it_ is actually Cas, somehow snuggled up between his chest and under his arm with his furry head resting directly under his chin and his hair tickling his nose.

“Asshole,” Dean murmurs, tipping his head up and away from the fur. Cas just starts purring again, though, and now that his fur isn’t in his face, Dean can’t find it in his sleep-muddled mind to push the snuggly little space heater away.

Something’s rattling. Almost banging. He rolls over, blinking sleep out of his eyes, and sees Cas scratching at the door. As soon as Cas sees him looking at him, he meows. When Dean doesn’t move right away—he isn’t a morning person and Cas fucking _knows_ that—he starts scratching again.

“Okay’m comin’,” Dean mumbles, slowly sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. There’s another urgent sounding _meow,_ and when Dean looks over at Cas he’s up on his hind legs scratching desperately at the door. “Okay, okay.” He gets to his feet and pulls the door open, and Cas darts like a bat out of hell down the hallway towards the bathroom.

_Oh._

Still annoying though.

He goes back to bed and covers up again, lying on his stomach now that the cat isn’t there to worry about, and he falls back asleep easily. The next time he wakes up, it’s time to get up for the day. He grabs his robe and heads out to the kitchen for coffee, which is where he sees Sam in front of the laptop with Cas lying on the table next to it. He wonders absentmindedly if Cas can read it, but needs to have coffee before he asks.

He leans against the counter and takes the first few sips of scalding hot coffee, glancing down with amusement when Cas starts weaving between his feet and rubbing up against his ankles.

“Did that to me when I got back from my run, too,” Sam says. Nowhere near ready to talk yet, he just nods. “Gave him more tuna for breakfast but we’re going to have to make a run to the pet store because I can’t find anything anywhere about angels turning into pets, and Rowena said she can’t get here until tomorrow at the very earliest.”

Knowing that Sam doesn’t expect an answer (because he isn’t going to give him one yet) he keeps drinking his coffee until Cas leaps up on the counter. It was a pretty impressive jump, but it’s bad enough he was walking all over the map table; he’s not getting those grubby paws all over the kitchen counter, too.

“Get off,” Dean says. Cas stays where he is and flicks the tip of his tail. “Your paws are dirty.”

_No._

Dean frowns. “You’ve been walking all over the damn bunker, and who knows what you stepped on outside. Get down.”

Instead of listening to him, Cas lies down, stretches out, and rests his head on his paws, a silent _make me_ etched into every line of his furry body. No fucking wonder he doesn’t like cats.

He walks over to Cas, scoops him up around the belly—getting a loud, angry sounding _meow—_ and plops him on the floor. “If you’re gonna be annoying, go do your cat things somewhere else.”

Forgetting about him for the time being, he starts to make breakfast. Because they barely managed to scarf down a couple of Gas ’n’ Sip hot dogs while on the way home last night, he’s fuckin’ starved, and decides on bacon and eggs. By the time everything’s done frying, he’s had his two cups of coffee and feels almost human.

He places two plates on the table and settles in his seat across from Sam, digging into his breakfast. “Nothing from Jack,” Sam announces. “No activity on the credit card we gave him and he hasn’t used his cell phone either.”

“Not like he needs food or shelter, though,” Dean says, trying to remind Sam that just because Jack hasn’t bought anything doesn’t mean he’s dead.

“Where would he go?” Sam asks.

He’s got no clue, but he thinks about it while he works on filling his stomach as quickly as possible, and he’s forgotten all about Cas as a cat until he feels him rub up against his leg under the table again. He peeks under the table to see Cas’s blue eyes almost glowing in the dark. Now that he’s more awake than he was before, he feels kinda bad about tossing Cas off of the counter like he did; it’s probably weird for him to be down on the floor while he and Sam tower over him. He glances over at Sam, seeing him fully engrossed in whatever he’s doing on his laptop, and grabs a piece of bacon. He pops it in his mouth, leaving a small bite left between his fingers, and surreptitiously drops his hand to his side. He doesn’t look, because he doesn’t want Sam to see him, but he wiggles his fingers under the table to get Cas’s attention, and presses his lips together to fight off a smile when he feels the rough slide of the cat’s tongue on his fingertips before Cas gently takes the piece of bacon into his mouth.

Cas starts purring so loudly he can hear it even though he’s under the table, and he eyes Sam quickly to see if he notices, but Sam just keeps doing his thing on the laptop. Cas as an angel almost never eats food, and he doesn’t even enjoy it when he does, so Dean might be feeling a little smug about cat Cas purring over bacon. For the first time in _years,_ he and Cas are enjoying the same food, so he gets him another bite. A bigger one this time, and Cas just keeps purring up a storm as he wolfs down bite after bite.

It’s when he feeds the fifth tiny piece of bacon to Cas under the table when Cas gets a little overeager, and Dean feels sharp cat teeth close down on the tip of his forefinger. Before he can remember not to, he says, “Ow!” and yanks his hand away, checking his fingers for blood shed.

Sam’s eyes flick up to him. Dean blushes as he realizes he just got busted. Sam narrows his eyes, and Dean grins guiltily as he looks away.

“You can’t feed a cat bacon,” Sam says firmly, catching on immediately.

“‘m not,” Dean lies. He doesn’t even know why he bothers because he knows Sam isn’t gonna buy it.

Sure enough, Sam says, “The fat in it could make it him really sick, Dean.”

Dean scoffs. ”He’s an angel. He knows what cats can eat.”

“If he throws up, you’re cleaning it.”

Obviously knowing the game is up now, Cas hops up onto the bench next to him.

“You gonna barf up the bacon?” Dean asks him.

_No._

“See? He’s fine.”

Sam looks between them. “And you talk cat now?”

“You jealous?”

Sam shakes his head like he’s annoyed, only making Dean grin bigger since annoying his little brother never gets old. “Well since you’re the cat expert, you can do the pet store run, then.”

Dean huffs through his nose. “You wish.”

Sam closes his laptop and folds his arms across his chest. “Okay. You stay here and do the research, and I’ll go get cat food.”

Reconsidering pretty damn fast, Dean gets to his feet. “No, you’re right. I’ll get the cat stuff, you do the nerd stuff. Just gotta shower and I’ll go.”

He’s not at all surprised when Cas follows him into his bedroom and down the hallway towards the bathroom. Dean pauses at the door and looks down at him. “Cat or not, you ain’t comin’ in here.” Cas twitches his tail but lies down right outside the door. “Good cat,” Dean deadpans, then he closes the door and gets down to business. Half hour later he’s shit, showered, and shaved, all with Cas’s tiny paws sticking through the crack at the bottom of the door (even after he told him to cut it the hell out). Then he gets dressed in his room and calls out a goodbye to Sam on the way out to the garage.

The whole time, Cas trots next to him, tail up, nails on his tiny paws clacking on the floor next to him. When he gets to his car Dean says, “Won’t be long. And I’ll get the good cat food, not that cheap shit, okay?”

_Meow._

Cas as a cat is actually kinda cute, so he gives into a smile. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

Dean opens the car door, but before he can step in, Cas jumps in and climbs across to the passenger seat, sitting perfectly still and looking out the windshield exactly like his human vessel would.

Dean sighs as he gets in behind the wheel. He pulls out his phone, snaps a picture of Cas and texts it to Sam.

 **DEAN:** Apparently Cas is coming with me.

 **SAM:** Don’t lose him in the pet store!

“Ha ha,” Dean says sarcastically to his phone, tucking it back into his pocket. He turns the key in the ignition and feels his body relax from the familiar rumble of his Baby’s engine. He turns his head to look at Cas. “No seat sharing this time, alright?”

_Yes._

“That’s a good kitty,” Dean smirks, and if it’s possible for a cat to roll its eyes, he’s pretty sure Cas just did it before he looked back out the window. Smiling to himself for sufficiently annoying Cas and Sam in the same morning, he backs out of the parking spot expertly with Led Zeppelin filling his ears and his second favorite person in the passenger seat. Cas sticks to his word and stays on his side of the bench seat this time, though he does stretch out enough so his head can rest on his knee.

They’re about halfway there when Cas’s constant purring gets twice as loud, and it isn’t until then that he realizes he’s absentmindedly started stroking him down his back while he was driving. “Feel nice to be petted?” Dean asks curiously, and though Cas doesn’t open his eyes long enough to blink, he figures the non-stop purring is answer enough. Then, as another thought occurs to him, he stops and asks, “This ain’t gonna make it weird when you’re back to the trench coated version of Cas, is it?”

Cas lifts his head to nudge Dean’s hand back into action, and again, he takes that as his answer and keeps petting him. It’s actually sorta soothing. The low rumble of Cas’s purr lets him know that Cas is happy, and it’s weirdly... _nice..._ knowing he’s the one making Cas feel that way. It isn’t like Cas is an overly smiley guy when he’s in his human form, so Dean decides to just go with it and give Cas the cat a day of happiness if he can.

Plus, he’s soft as hell.

By the time they get to the pet store, Cas is out cold, his head a warm weight on the crease of his leg where it slipped when he fell asleep. Dean hates to wake him, but when he turns the car off, Cas lifts his head and pins him with an annoyed look.

“We’re here.” He glances over at the pet store and then back at Cas. “Figure animals can probably come in, so it’s up to you if you want to stay here or not.”

Cas stands up, stretches languidly, and then looks at Dean and blinks once. _Yes._ Alright, then.

“Stay close so you don’t get turned into a speed bump,” Dean warns him once they’re both on their feet. Cas does as he asks and prances alongside him, keeping pace as Dean walks across the street and towards the store. Dean pulls the door open for Cas to walk through it, then Cas lifts his nose, sniffs the air, and darts off down one of the aisles.

“Hey, wait up,” Dean calls after him, thinking that if he _did_ lose him in a pet store Sam would never let him hear the end of it, but he only has to turn the corner of the first aisle to find him. Cas is on his hind legs with his front two paws on a gigantic bag of _Taste of the Wild_ cat food. “Salmon flavor?” Dean asks, reading it aloud.

_Yes._

He looks at the price of the one Cas is standing in front of, then looks at the price of the two on either side and frowns. “You had to pick the one plated in gold? What’s the matter with this one?”

Cas walks over, sniffs it, and visibly recoils.

_No._

Dean sighs. “Fine. Whatever. You good with the toilet instead of a litter box?”

_Yes._

“Thank Christ,” Dean says to himself more than Cas. “So what else do we need? Sam didn’t even gimme a list.”

“Do you need a hand with something, sir?”

Dean turns to see a teenager standing there with a customer service smile on his face. He glances down at Cas and says, “Just got a new cat. Not really sure what he needs other than food. He already has a litter box,” he lies.

The kid nods. “A collar with a tag would be helpful in case he gets away on you. Older cats tend to take off more frequently than kittens.”

“Not super worried about him bolting on us,” Dean starts, but Cas butts his head against his ankle and meows. Reconsidering, he says, “But maybe he wants a collar anyway?”

_Meow._

The kid laughs. “Sounds like a yes to me. They’re just over here.”

Dean and Cas follow him over with the bag of cat food in tow. “Other than a collar, I suggest a brush, a cat bed, a cat tree, and maybe some toys to get him started.”

Dean blows out a long stream of air as he thinks about how much that’s gonna put them back. “Yeah. I’ll start with a collar and let you know if I need anything else.”

Obviously picking up on the fact that Dean’s dismissing him, he nods and walks over to the next sucker he can find.

Dean’s knees crack as he crouches down next to Cas, lowering his voice enough that he doesn’t seem like a crazy guy talking to his cat. “You gonna use a cat bed if I buy you one?”

_No._

“Figured. Cat tree?”

_No._

“Toys?”

_Yes._

“Wait—really?” Dean asks, surprised by this. “All I’ve seen you do is sleep and eat.”

Cas doesn’t back down though, so he shrugs and straightens back up. After a quick internal debate, he grabs a blue collar that reminds him of Cas’s usual blue tie and holds it up for Cas’s approval, which he gets with a blink. It has a little bell on it, making him smile softly when he thinks about Cas jingling his way through the bunker, then he shakes his head and selects a brush before he looks over at the wall of cat toys.

Having no clue where to even start, he puts the bag of cat food down and the collar on top of that, then picks Cas up and holds him against his chest. Instantly, Cas stars purring as loudly as he’s ever heard him. He gives him a scratch behind the ear and says, “Alright, which ones make your little feline heart go pitter-patter?”

They end up with a mouse that squeaks, a bird that chirps, and something like a waffle ball with a bell inside. He hauls all that shit up to the checkout and drops what he can onto the counter while he waits for the person in front of them to pay. Cas stays by his feet, so as he’s waiting, he looks around aimlessly for a few seconds until he notices a little counter display of collar charms. He rolls his eyes a little, thinking that people buy their pets the weirdest shit... but then his gaze catches on a little dangling bee charm. It’s fat and cartoonish, and for whatever reason, it brings him back to when Cas was all crazy and offered Crowley the honey he collected. He laughs to himself and grabs it without thinking, adding it to the pile of shit he’s already gonna buy.

He exchanges pleasantries with the young lady at the cash, and when she asks if he has a laser pointer yet and he tells her he doesn’t, she lights up.

“Believe me, watching a cat chase that around the house and try to climb up the walls after it _never_ gets old.”

Because Dean’s a dick and the idea of making Cas chase a tiny bead of light around the bunker sounds hilarious, he grabs a laser pointer, too. With one hand full of the cat food and the other one carrying a bag, he and Cas make their way back out to the Impala. The bag of food goes in the trunk and the other bag goes on the passenger seat next to Cas, which he immediately noses his way into and comes out with the collar between his teeth, looking at him hopefully.

“You want me to put that on you?”

_Yes._

Dean takes it from him and rips the cardboard off. He has to adjust it a few times to make it fit snugly, but then it’s secured around Cas’s neck and Dean has to push away the thoughts of how _technically_ Cas belongs to him now. To distract himself away from his wayward thoughts, he grabs the bee charm outta the bag and holds it up for Cas.

“Thought you might get a kick outta this too,” he says, hating the way he feels nervous over giving a gift to a fucking cat. Cas is already purring softly when Dean clicks it onto the little ring on the collar, which then makes him start purring twice as loud as before. Sitting back to survey his handiwork, he nods his approval and gives Cas a little scratch behind the ears.

“That’s better, huh?” he asks Cas. “The blue sorta reminds me of your tie. Now you don’t look so naked.”

Cas tilts his head to the side and pins him with a significant look.

 

  


As if Dean can _hear_ his thoughts, he snatches his hand away from him in shock and embarrassment as he realizes—

“Holy shit, you _are_ naked!”

Cas narrows his eyes and surges forwards, his front paws on Dean’s thigh while he stretches his neck out to headbutt under his chin. Dean’s mind is whirling a mile a minute, thinking about Cas curled up on his lap yesterday when he was driving, pressed up against his chest _in his bed_ last night—and Cas was doing all of that buck naked! Obviously picking up on the fact that Dean is no longer petting him, Cas lowers his head, and the next thing he knows, he’s got a cold, wet nose prodding at his hand.

“Cut it out. I’m not touching you if you’re naked.” Cas just keeps nudging him so he gives him a gentle push off of him. “Seriously, stop. It’s weird now.”

Cas’s chest puffs up and then air comes out on a long breath.

“Did you—did you just sigh at me?”

_Yes._

“I’m getting sassed by a cat. Unbelievable.”

Cas leans in, and because he knows he’s about to nudge his hand again, he holds it up in the air in defeat.

“Listen. You’re—” He pauses for a second, wanting to make sure he doesn’t piss him off enough to make him try to shred the leather. “Your fur is soft and you make a cute cat, alright? But there’s no fucking way I’m gonna stroke your back all nice and gentle or whatever if you’re tellin’ me you’re basically naked.”

Cas does that thing with his eyes again that makes it look like an eye roll, and then he’s moving slowly—purposely slowly—until he rubs his face along Dean’s outstretched hand. Cas stops once his hand gets to his neck, then backs up and does it again, fixing Dean with a piercing Cas-like stare.

Dean’s shoulders relax as he gets it.

“I can still pet your head.”

_Yes._

He gives in and scratches between Cas’s ears, which makes him start purring again. “Okay, but isn’t this basically the human equivalent of me playing with your hair?” The purring intensifies, and even though he always tries not to think about this kind of stuff, he gets a quick mental flash. _Cas’s head on his shoulder, Dean’s hand resting on the nape of Cas's neck just above his trench coat, and his fingers brushing through the angel’s soft hair while he drives late at night on the way home from working a case._ He swallows thickly as his heart clenches in his chest. “You ever tell Sam and I’ll kill you.”

Cas moves so fast he can’t even begin to stop him before he’s stretched out on his chest, his head tucked in nice and close against his neck and his two front paws on either shoulder. It’s obviously a hug, and Dean breathes out a laugh as he lifts his hand to pat his head, feeling Cas push into his touch.

“Okay,” he says roughly, fighting back a smile. “That’s enough of the naked hugs, weirdo.”

Cas rubs the top of his head against Dean’s cheek, then climbs off and settles along his thigh, his head back on his knee.

“Chick flick moment over,” he declares, finally turning the car on and backing out of the parking spot. He can’t hear it over Led Zeppelin, but Cas’s purring is a non-stop vibration on his knee the whole way home, and though he isn’t about to say it out loud, he’s glad Cas made the trip with him.


	2. Chapter 2

They’re on the exact same dirt road as they were when they found Cas last time when Cas seems to wake up all at once. He scrambles to his feet, his tiny body rigid, and he lets out an alarmed sounding _meow._

“Dream about dogs chasing you?” Dean quips, proud of his own quick thinking.

Cas crawls across his lap and starts headbutting the window. Dean looks at him while keeping an eye on the road, trying to figure out what he wants, when Cas switches to pawing at the glass the same way he did at his door this morning.

“You need the litter box?” Dean asks.

_Meow._

“Okay, we’re gonna be home in less than two minutes, so cross your legs or whatever.”

Cas keeps pawing at the window, but Dean’s already pulling into the garage. He considers stopping to let Cas jump out, but it’s gotta be faster for him to drive (even slowly) than it is for Cas to run, so he doesn’t.

He really should have.

Cas’s entire tiny body starts heaving, his neck stretching out as he jerks again and again in Dean’s lap, and just as Dean realizes what’s about to happen, Cas hops down onto the passenger side footwell and Dean hears the sound of a cat puking all over the Impala’s floor.

“Fuck me,” Dean complains lowly. Cas stays where he is while he empties his stomach twice more, and it’s only after Dean parks the car and turns it off that he’s brave enough to look at the damage to his Baby.

It’s actually not that bad, mostly liquid that he should be able to wipe up easily enough, so it ends up being the way Cas has his head hanging in shame that really catches his attention.

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” he tells Cas. “Not the first time somebody’s barfed in here, and it probably won’t be the last.” Cas curls up on the floor next to his own puddle of vomit and lies his head on his paws, looking so pathetically sad Dean can hardly stand to look at him.

He gets out of the car, grabs one of the many rags from the trunk, and opens the passenger door.

“Come on, Cas,” Dean says gently, crouching down next to him. “Why don’t you go lie down somewhere more comfortable. Like Sam’s bed,” he offers, tongue in cheek.

Cas doesn’t even spare him a glance (and that was fucking funny!).

He reaches out slowly and scratches the space on Cas's head between his ears, and for the first time, Cas doesn’t even purr. Dean frowns, both feeling oddly cheated and starting to worry that something more than just car sickness is going on here.

“Cas,” he says, more seriously now. “You’re good, right? Just got a little car sick?” Cas keeps his head cradled on his paws, but his tail flicks this time at least. Knowing Cas’s weakness lies in helping others, Dean says, “Kinda freaking me out here. I don’t know shit about cats, and it’s really gonna suck if you die on my watch. Again.” Cas lifts his head for that and blinks tiredly. “You feelin’ sick, buddy?”

_No._

“That’s good,” Dean encourages. “Get it all out of your system?”

_Yes._

“Okay,” Dean says slowly, wondering why he won’t move if he feels better. “You wanna hop out so I can clean up then?”

_No._

Dean licks his lips as he grasps for patience. “This might be my first experience with cat upchuck, but I’m pretty sure it’s the same as the rest of it: the longer you let it sit, the grosser it’s gonna get. So be a pal and move your furry ass outta the way.”

_No._

Dean sighs heavily and lets his chin hit his chest. “My knees ain’t made for crouching like this anymore. Please, Cas?”

_No._

Irritated now, his, “Why?” comes out a little harsher than he meant it to.

Obviously Cas can’t answer that, so Dean thinks it through. If Cas doesn’t still feel sick, why won’t he move? It isn't like he’s comfortable down there on the hard floor, and he’s inches away from getting barf on his fur. Maybe Cas doesn’t want him to clean it up? Maybe he’s embarrassed or something? Considering he’s used to not getting sick at all, he might not like this too much.

“You know it’s no big deal, right?” he tries. He gets no response other than another irritated twitch of his tail. “Man, the amount of times Sam’s had to clean up after me when I drank too much—or hell, the other way around when he was a kid and had the flu and dad still dragged him on the road. This is nothing compared to that, believe me. Besides, you’d do it for me if I was stuck without working thumbs, right?” He slides a hip onto the passenger seat, his feet still on the ground, and bends enough to pet Cas’s head. This time, he gets a quiet purr, and he tries to swallow his smile. “Probably all my fault anyway. Givin’ you all that bacon.” Cas purrs louder. “Shoulda known this was gonna happen; friggin’ Sam’s always right about shit like that.”

He keeps petting Cas’s head, enjoying the sound of his purr again, and after a few seconds pass, he says, “I’ll make you a deal. You don’t tell Sam he was right and that cats really can’t eat bacon, and I won’t tell him you barfed in the car. It’ll be our little secret. Then we’ll get you inside and set you up with that salmon stuff that got you all twitterpated at the pet store, get that little tummy filled up again. Deal?”

_Yes._

Then Cas leaps up onto the seat, and Dean expels a long breath before he leans over and wipes up the cat puke. “Thanks for not barfing on the leather, by the way. You definitely get points for that.”

He gets a headbutt to the shoulder for his comment and glances up long enough to shoot Cas a grin as he finishes it up. “There, see? Just a few seconds, a ruined rag that’s goin’ straight into the garbage, and it’s as good as new. No harm, no foul.” He straightens up and pets down Cas’s back, feeling him arch into his touch and smiling in response before he snatches his hand back. _Naked,_ he reminds himself, flushing at the thought.

He grabs the bag with the brush and the cat toys, waits for Cas to jump out of the car, then grabs the cat food and leads the way back inside the bunker. To his surprise, Sam’s waiting by the map table with a packed duffel bag and his jacket on.

“What’s goin’ on?” Dean asks.

“I can’t just sit here anymore without knowing where Jack is,” Sam explains, looking worried. “I’m gonna go look for him.”

Dean gapes at him. “He could literally be anywhere.”

"He doesn't have that much grace left so he can't be too far," Sam says with a shrug. “I have to try.”

Dean runs a hand through his hair and places the cat food on the table. “Okay. Let me grab a bag.”

“No, you stay here with Cas. Rowena will be here tomorrow and I don’t want us to miss her if we’re not back. I’m sure Cas is ready to get back on two feet,” Sam says with a smile aimed at where Cas has jumped onto the map table.

_Meow._

“Well, take it easy then. We still don’t even know what got Cas in the first place. Whatever it is could be waiting for you, could have Jack held hostage for all we know.”

_Meow._

Dean looks over at him. “What?”

“Not like he can answer you,” Sam reminds him.

Dean ignores his brother and asks Cas, “Do you know what turned you into a cat?”

_Yes._

“Does it have Jack?”

_No._

“Is it gonna try to do something to Sam?”

_No._

“Was it a witch?”

_No._

“Angel?”

_No._

Huh. What the hell's left?

“Blinking system?” Sam asks, which Dean confirms with a nod. “If it wasn’t a witch and wasn’t an angel—”

“Cursed object?” Dean guesses.

_No._

“That’s really all I got,” Dean says, plopping into the nearest chair.

“Do you know if Jack is okay?” Sam asks Cas.

_No._

“Any idea where he might be?”

_No._

Sam’s eyes go a little wide as a new thought seems to occur to him. “Hey, was he with you when you were turned into a cat?”

_Yes._

“So if I find him, he’ll be able to tell us what it was?” Sam asks eagerly. For the first time, Cas doesn’t answer. “Cas?”

Still nothing.

“Must not be a yes or no answer,” Dean guesses, and Cas blinks an enthusiastic _yes_ for that.

“What’s that mean though?” Sam wonders. “He doesn’t know or he won’t be able to tell us? And if he can’t tell us, why not?”

“Beats me,” Dean responds, absentmindedly scratching Cas’s ears when he lies down on the table in front of him. “Hopefully when you find him you can figure it out.”

“Yeah,” Sam sighs. “Can I take the Impala?”

“Sure.” He waits a beat for Sam to smile nice and wide, then adds, “If you want me to hunt you down and kick your ass.”

Sam sighs but doesn’t try again. “I probably won’t be back tonight, but I’ll keep you posted.”

“Be careful. Call me or mom if you need backup,” Dean tells him.

“I will. Don’t kill the cat while I’m gone.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Then Sam’s clomping up the stairs and pausing long enough at the door for a little wave, and Dean and Cas are all alone in the bunker. He has about three seconds to wonder what he’s going to do to keep Cas entertained until Cas answers his unasked question by nudging the bag of cat food with his nose.

“Hungry, huh?”

_Yes._

Dean swallows down the comment he wants to make about how he wouldn’t be hungry if he didn’t just barf up his breakfast and pulls the bag towards himself to read the back to see how much to feed him. He pushes out of his seat to find the measuring cup in a drawer in the kitchen, then wonders what he’s going to put the cat food in since he didn’t buy a bowl. He looks to Cas. “Plate or bowl?” The second the words are out of his mouth, he shakes his head and rephrases. “Plate?”

_Yes._

He pulls one down, brings it over to the map table, opens the bag, fills the scoop and empties it onto the plate. “There you go buddy, _bon appetit.”_

Cas digs in like a man starving, and he leans back in his seat as he watches him with amusement. He can’t help but laugh a little when Cas starts purring as he eats. It’s adorable to know he’s _this_ happy just from eating some dry cat food. Usually Dean’s the one who inhales his food making sounds of pleasure while he does, so it’s nice to see somebody else enjoy what he’s eating just as much, even if it is somebody currently in cat form.

When Cas is done and every little kibble is gone, Cas walks over to him and lies down on the table in front of him. He flops over onto his side, exposing his very round stomach as his tail flicks, and Dean’s grinning all over again. Cas looks like the cat version of Dean sprawled out on the couch with his stomach bulging because he ate too much, and he definitely sympathizes.

“Over ate a little, huh?” Dean asks knowingly.

_Yes._

“Believe me, I’ve been there.” Since Cas can’t answer and Dean can’t think of what else to say, there’s a silence that stretches out for a little while. Finally, Dean shrugs and says, “We got nothing to do but wait for Rowena or Jack to come back, and Sam isn’t here to nag me about doing ‘something useful’, so I’m gonna go watch TV for once.”

As he gets to his feet, he’s not at all surprised to see Cas do the same thing, and the little bell on Cas’s collar jingles quietly as he follows him down the maze of hallways until they reach The Dean Cave. He doesn’t even bother flicking the lights on, instead he just grabs for the TV remote and turns it on before he flops into his preferred recliner.

He thinks of _Friends_ and Joey and Chandler as he pulls the lever to kick his feet out and recline, feeling fucking fantastic with the prospect of being lazy for once. He’s just gotten comfortable when Cas leaps up onto the arm of the chair and then walks—heavily footed—onto his stomach, eventually settling down with his paws crossed in front of him.

“Just go ahead and make yourself comfortable,” Dean says sarcastically. Cas blinks up at him and he can almost hear his low, rumbling voice answering him, _I_ _am_ _comfortable. Thank you, Dean._

“You know you can’t see the TV like this.” Cas does that almost eye roll thing again and Dean frowns as some random comment from Sam comes back to him about cats and dogs not having the same eyesight as humans. “You can’t see the TV even if you were lookin’ at it, can you?”

_No._

“Well, we don’t hafta to watch TV. We can do something else. Like, uh, play with those cat toys?”

 _No._ Cas lets his eyelids droop closed after that and Dean gets it. He absentmindedly starts petting Cas down his neck while he flicks through the channels on TV, which makes the little guy start purring, and Dean’s trying not to laugh at his own oncoming joke when he says, “Yeah, go ahead and take a cat nap.”

Cas opens his eyelids _just_ enough to pin him with an unamused glare, and Dean’s twitching lips grow into a wide grin. “Screw you, that was funny.”

Cas’s eyes droop again, and though it’s weird that he doesn’t put his head down, he goes completely still and the purring slowly peters out until the only sound in the room is the TV playing _Dumb and Dumber._ It’s one of those old movies that he’s seen a million times that Sam always bitches about when he watches it, so without him here, Dean indulges and laughs at the stupid jokes. Cas opens his eyes enough to squint at him with clear annoyance whenever Dean laughs too hard and his stomach and/or chest moves enough to wake him up, but as soon as Dean starts petting him again, he goes back to purring and drifts off again with his head pillowed on his paws.

As _Dumb and Dumber_ turns into _Happy Gilmore,_ Dean notices for the first time that somewhere along the way Cas has shimmied up and rolled over onto his side. Cas’s head is leaning on Dean’s shoulder now, and Dean’s still rubbing his fingers along the back of his neck, letting himself soak up the comfort and warmth that Cas’s little body is giving him. It’s nice being in here without the sound of Sam typing or the soft light from his brother’s phone glowing next to him. Cas’s company is actually really soothing, even if he is asleep—hell, maybe _because_ he’s asleep. He lets his free hand fall onto Cas’s back, gently cording his fingers through his fur. He sighs happily. Cas is so soft and warm, the recliner is comfortable, the room is in shadows, and before he can even think to fight it off, his eyelashes are hitting his cheeks and he’s drifting off.

As he’s dragged back into consciousness at some point later, he rolls his shoulder to try to get away from the heavy weight on it. He opens his eyes just enough to see the top of Cas’s head, his disheveled hair sticking up and tickling his chin.

He lifts his shoulder again, getting a low grunt from Cas before Cas turns his head over to sleep on the other side of his face. Cas is a heavy but familiar weight on top of him, and though it’s pretty obvious this recliner is way too small for the both of them, he can’t find it in him to complain about how snugly their bodies fit together. But he is kinda paying for it, because the inside of his one thigh is tingling painfully where most of Cas’s weight is resting, and his shoulder is screaming at him where it’s already fallen asleep.

“Shoulder’s numb,” Dean slurs.

Cas grunts again, but moves his head so it’s more in the center of Dean’s chest, his face pressed right into Dean’s neck. “Sleeping,” Cas grumbles.

He feels Cas's breath warm and damp on his bare skin, causing goosebumps to pop up. “Dick,” Dean murmurs, but he rearranges until one hand is splayed loose and lazy on the dip of Cas’s lower back over his dress shirt, and the other is cupping the nape of Cas’s neck so his thumb can brush through his thick hair.

Cas’s arms are wrapped around his waist, and it feels like coming home when his thick fingers worm their way under Dean’s shirts until his palms are pressed to his bare back. Cas’s fingertips stroke along his spine until he drifts back to sleep with his cheek resting on Cas’s head and a soft smile on his face.

He wakes up again to a wet, cold nose nudging his chin. As he opens his eyes, he registers several things all at once.

One hand is resting on Cas’s back just above his tail, the other is still on the back of his neck, and he just had a dream about cuddling the very _human-looking_ version of his best friend. Not even that. About _loving the fuck_ out of cuddling the very human-looking version of his best friend.

His hands move away from Cas like he’s been burned and he pushes up until he’s sitting on the recliner, and Cas slides down his chest until he lands in his lap. Cas narrows his eyes and tilts his head, and jesus, he can see the confusion in the squint there.

_Meow?_

Maybe he’s losing his damn marbles, but that meow definitely sounds like a question, so he clears his throat and murmurs, “‘m fine.” Cas keeps staring at him, his eyes no less inquisitive and piercing for being on a cat, and Dean has to look away to break his gaze as his cheeks heat up. He still has a fluttering in his stomach from how much he enjoyed snuggling with Cas in his dream, and he doesn’t know how to ask Cas to get off of him right now without hurting the damn cat’s feelings or making him suspicious of why.

Thankfully, his stomach chooses that moment to start grumbling, so Dean eagerly says, “Lunch time,” and Cas hops off of his lap and onto the floor so Dean can go deal with that. Cas winds around his feet while he makes a sandwich, and Dean takes the little toy bird he bought for Cas out of the bag and tosses it for him while he eats.

Watching Cas chase after the chirping bird is unlike anything he’s ever seen Cas do before. While Cas in human form is usually so stiff and unsure (unless he’s got an angel blade, mind you), Cas the cat is lithe and nimble. He’s like a damn jungle cat, the way his shoulder blades move and he takes these bounding leaps, and Dean’s mesmerized. Thankfully, likely because Cas is aware on some level of what he’s doing, he returns the toy back to him each time after he kills it by shaking the shit out of it. He can’t help but chuckle at the proud little trot, at how Cas's head is held high, and how he looks _exactly_ like the proverbial cat that caught the canary each and every time he brings it to him.

“You killed it, huh?” Cas postures proudly again, purring nice and loud, and Dean scoops him up to snuggle the soft little guy. He rubs at Cas’s face and ears when Cas lies down on his chest and says, “Guess you’re a kick ass hunter no matter what you look like, huh? Such a good kitty.”

He gets a headbutt for that and once again loses himself in the happiness he feels hearing Cas purring and having him in his arms. _That_ thought brings back memories of the dream he had though, and between one breath and the next, he goes from floating in fuzzy feelings to _what the hell am I doing?_

He clears his throat and says, “I’m gonna go give the Impala an oil change and a car wash. You need anything before I get started?”

_No._

Cas still follows him out to the garage and sits patiently on the cold, cement floor while Dean changes the oil, but as soon as he gets the hose out to fill a bucket, Cas walks over to the driver’s side door and starts meowing. Figuring he wants inside to stay dry, Dean lets him in and smiles softly when he watches him curl up on his seat.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Dean tells him, purposely putting the gruffness in his voice to make him sound more threatening than he feels. “Only one who drives my Baby is me.”

Cas sighs, but is already losing the battle of staying awake, so Dean closes the door and gets to work soaping up the Impala. He takes his time, lets his body give way to muscle memory and his mind to drift while he works. He thinks about how rare it is to have a lazy day like this with nothing else to do—no end of the world shit, nothing he can do to try and help find Jack that he hasn't already done, nothing more he can do about cat Cas—and how it’s been sorta nice to spend it with Cas. Cas as a cat is great company. Quiet, snuggly. He wonders absentmindedly if that’s a cat thing or a Cas thing...

That kills most of the afternoon, and by the time his Baby is gleaming the way she always should be, he feels a deep sense of satisfaction mixed in with all of the aches and pains he has from stretching out and bending over repeatedly that remind him he’s starting to get old.

He peels off his flannel, which is damp in several places, then lets Cas out of the car. He got an annoyed look for waking Cas up, but Cas still follows him through the massive garage and the door that leads to the map room.

He checks in with Sam (no luck finding Jack yet) and is just about to go back to the Dean Cave when he hears the grinding sound of the bunker door opening.

On full alert, he glances up only to see Rowena’s tiny frame walking inside.

“Oh, hey,” Dean says somewhat awkwardly. He doesn’t have a lot of experience dealing with Rowena one-on-one and it suddenly feels really weird to have her here without Sam or even Cas. Well, regular Cas anyway.

“Don’t get up,” she says sarcastically. “Heaven forbid you show some manners.”

Dean pulls a face and waits for her to walk down the staircase. “Thought you couldn’t come ‘til tomorrow?”

“I was under the impression this was an emergency, is it not?” she asks. Dean shrugs a single shoulder, glancing at Cas. “Where is our devilishly handsome angel?”

He feels a surge of protectiveness course through him at hearing Rowena talk about Cas like that, but before he can reply, Cas _meows._

Rowena looks at him with a combination of confusion and dismissal before her eyes widen. “Good heavens!”

“Guess the cat’s outta the bag,” Dean quips, earning himself a tired look from Rowena.

“Spell gone wrong?” she asks.

“No clue. We got a blinking system going and he said it wasn’t a witch, angel, or cursed object.”

“And he was alone when this happened, then?” Rowena checks.

“No, uh, with Jack. Who’s MIA right now.”

“Hmmm.” Rowena walks around the table towards Cas, but Cas surprises them both when he backs away from her. “Don’t be cagey now, handsome, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Cas ain’t having it, though. For whatever reason, he’s dodging Rowena step for step. “Would you _do something?_ I haven’t got all day, you know!” Rowena says irritably to Dean.

“Sheesh,” Dean says quietly under his breath. Then, louder, “C’mere, Cas.” Cas stops mid-step and looks at Dean with interest. “C’mon buddy,” Dean says again. Cas takes a step towards him making a quiet little chirping sound and Dean smiles softly. “That’s a good boy. Keep comin’.”

“No surprise he’d go to _you,”_ Rowena says, crossing her arms over her chest.

He frowns as Cas climbs onto his chest and rubs his furry face along his. “What’s that s’posed to mean?”

She arches an eyebrow. “Surely you’re not _that_ stupid?”

Feeling uncomfortable now, he waves that away with a dismissive head shake and says, “Now that I’ve got ‘em, can you fix him?”

She moves close enough so that she can reach out and touch him. Cas jerks his head away and goes to move again, but Dean grabs him by the collar and strokes one hand down his back. “Take it easy, Cas. She’s tryin’ to help you, man.”

Cas keeps eyeing her warily but allows her to place her hand on his head. She closes her eyes and Dean splits his gaze between watching Cas to make sure she isn’t doing anything fishy and checking Rowena’s expression to try to find out what she knows.

She pulls her hand away and glances at it like it’s contaminated or something before returning to where she left her purse on the map table and pulling a small handkerchief out of it to wash her hand off. “Well, would you like the good news or the bad news first?”

“Bad news.”

“I can’t turn him back,” she says simply.

Dean feels his heart sink right to his stomach. What does she mean she can’t fix him? He can’t be stuck like this forever! What about Cas? The _real_ Cas?

“But I do know how he got stuck in such a state in the first place.”

That has his attention again. “How?”

“A spell cast by an extremely powerful being. Much more powerful than your typical witch or angel.”

Dean’s eyebrows pinch together. “Like Chuck?”

“No,” she says simply.

Then he gets it. “Jack. But Cas said it wasn’t an angel.”

“Technically he’s a nephilim,” Rowena reminds him.

Dean glances down at Cas. “Did Jack do this to you?”

Cas waits several seconds, but eventually blinks once. _Yes._

Dean’s stunned for about two seconds before he’s pissed. “So he turns you into a cat and then fucks off on us?”

_No._

“I don’t buy it, and he’s grounded until the damn cows come home when we find him.”

“Anyways,” Rowena drawls. “As riveting as this inter-species lovers quarrel is, I’d best be off. Do tell young Samuel I _deeply_ regret our paths not crossing.”

Dean pulls another face and sarcastically answers, “Yeah, I’ll make sure to pass that right on.”

Rowena slides her purse onto her forearm. “Don’t be jealous, dearie, you’ve got your hands full as it is.” She glances down at where Cas is still in his arms, raises both eyebrows, then she turns her back on him and walks right back up the stairs.

He doesn’t know what exactly he’s supposed to say to that, but he does call out, “Hey.” She stops in her tracks and looks at him expectantly. “Thanks for, y’know, coming so fast and trying to help or whatever.”

“Oh bollocks.” She tilts her head to the side and places her hand on her heart. “Manners after all. Dare I say I’m a wee bit proud?”

“Alright.” Dean grits out the word and hears a soft trail of laughter following her out the door, then he sighs dramatically and lowers his head until he’s forehead to forehead with Cas. “What the hell do we do now, huh?”

Cas’s only answer is to purr and lean into where their foreheads touch. He scratches under Cas's chin, letting the rhythmic sound of his purr soothe his frayed nerves. It’s only a few minutes before he feels calm enough to call Sam and fill him in with what he knows. He puts it on speaker phone so Cas can hear what they’re saying.

“Why would Jack turn Cas into a cat?” Sam questions.

Dean looks at Cas but gets no attempt at an answer. “I got nothin’. Cat’s got Cas’s tongue.”

Sam huffs out a laugh. “How long have you been waiting to say that?”

“Just came to me,” Dean says proudly.

“Well, I’m already a few hours from the bunker so I guess I’ll crash at a hotel tonight, and if we don’t hear from him tomorrow I’ll head back and we can see about summoning him or something.”

“Yeah, sounds good. I’ll make sure we’ve got everything we need.”

“Don’t forget to feed the cat,” Sam reminds him.

Dean chuckles. “Like Cas would ever let that happen.”

_Meow._

“See?” Dean laughs.

“Sounds like you two are having fun.”

Dean shrugs even though Sam can’t see him. “Always nice having the place to myself.”

“Don’t get used to it. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says easily. “See you when you get here.”

“Later, man.”

Dean ends the call and looks down at Cas sitting on the table. “Guess it’s just us for dinner. How do ya feel about nachos?” Cas tilts his head to the side. “Well, me eating nachos I guess. You get your fancy cat food.” Cas perks up at that and Dean grins at him. “I say you cook and I supervise.”

Then, laughing at his own joke, Dean pushes away from the table and ambles over to the kitchen. Cas follows him in and sits by his feet. Dean starts by browning some ground beef, but gets interrupted by a _meow._

Cas looks at him, then looks at the counter, then looks back at him with his eyes wide and pleading.

Dean sighs but doesn’t have it in him to tell Cas no when he’s looking at him so hopefully. “Yeah, get up here.”

Cas leaps up and settles onto the counter to watch as Dean chops up some lettuce, tomatoes, and peppers, and finally grates the cheese and adds some bacon bits. He puts everything together and pops it in the oven, then feeds Cas on the same plate as before right there on the counter. He has the fucking brilliant idea to change into pajama pants and an old t-shirt, so he bolts into his bedroom to do that while the nachos are cooking. When the nachos are done, he loads most of them onto a plate and carries it and a beer into The Dean Cave with a huge smile on his face. This is the good life right here.

He puts the beer on the recliner and pulls a TV tray over, placing the plate on it and moving his beer beside it before settling into the recliner. Cas hops up onto his lap as soon as he’s reclined, and he resigns himself to eating with a cat on him.

 _American Pie_ is on the same channel he was watching before, and since he’s more interested in eating than what he’s watching, he just leaves it and digs in. It’s only about three bites before the first nacho breaks and falls on his chest, and two more after that when a chunk of salsa lands on top of Cas’s head.

At first, he presses his lips together into a tight line to try to keep from laughing, but when Cas lifts his head to glare at him and the glob slides down between his eyes, he loses it and cracks up. Cas, the little shit, just leans forward and rubs it on his shirt, which makes him laugh even more. “Well played, fur ball,” he says between his laughter, but when Cas starts rubbing his paw over his head and then licking it he takes pity on the poor little guy and wipes the rest off with his already ruined shirt. “There ya go. Might wanna give me a wide berth so it don’t happen again.”

Cas stays put but doesn’t rest his head this time, and though he gets a few crumbs and bacon bits that fall on him, the salsa was the worst of the damage.

As he finishes his beer, he looks at Cas and says, “Should get you a little cat saddle so you can get me another beer.” He gets another sassy look for that which prompts more laughter. “Yeah, guess I’m dreamin’ there. Get up though, I’m goin’ to get another one.”

The beer goes down even better than the nachos, and he ends up getting up several times for another, much to Cas’s annoyance. But _American Pie_ turns to _American Pie 2,_ and then _American Reunion_ and for whatever reason, Dean doesn’t turn them off. He laughs, he snickers, he feels secondhand embarrassment, and he even gets teary a time or two, though he makes sure Cas doesn’t notice. Cas takes off twice, which he assumes is to use the can, but other than that, he’s a constant fuzzy _—furry—_ presence that Dean already knows he’ll miss when Cas goes back to normal.

As the beer keeps flowing, his lips start flapping.

“How come we don’t do this when you’re all angely, hm?” Cas cocks his head in a silent question and Dean says, “Not the cuddling bullshit, but we don’t do enough movie nights. I like watching movies with you.” Cas blinks in surprise and he explains, “You’ve always got somethin’ to say to make me think about a movie I’ve seen a dozen times in a different way, ya little nerd.”

As he watches _American Reunion_ he admits, “Always kinda rooted for Vicky and Kevin, but I woulda been pissed if Oz and Heather didn’t end up together. I’m a sucker for those jock falls for nerd love stories. Like _She’s All That,_ you know? Laney and Zach are freakin’ iconic.”

When the movie ends with Stifler saying, “I fucked Finch’s mom!” Dean laughs so hard his stomach aches. “Ya know, one thing I never did was fuck a friend’s mom. Dean Winchester has morals when it comes to who he fucks,” he chuckles. “Bet you didn’t know that, huh?” He laughs when Cas meows. “Yeah, there’s lotsa shit you don’t know about me, but I’m not spillin’ all my secrets, Cas. Not even for those pretty blue eyes of yours.” Cas looks surprised at that and he scoffs as he scratches his cheek and gazes into them. “What, like you don’t know your eyes are crazy blue? Cat, angel, even when you were human, always blue, blue, blue. Probably spent more time lookin’ into those stupid baby blues of yours than anybody else’s. Can never seem to look away once I start, even when it gets weird.” He feels something niggling in the back of his mind, like maybe he shouldn’t have said that, and clears his throat accordingly. “Like now, when I get buzzed on beer and spill my guts to my best friend the cat.”

Dean fights back a yawn. “I’d sleep right here tonight if it wouldn’t fuck up my back.” His eyes drift closed as he says it though, and he turns his head to the side to better lie against the headrest. They fly open again when he gets headbutted roughly by Cas. “What?” he complains. Cas narrows his eyes, turns to look out the door and then back at him, and Dean gets it. “You want me to go to bed so I can walk tomorrow.”

_Yes._

“Fine,” Dean sighs, knowing that’s the better idea since Cas will never leave him alone if he doesn’t. Cas jumps down onto the floor, and Dean folds the recliner in and gets to his feet, indulging in a long stretch. He’ll worry about the beer bottles tomorrow. “I know you just wanna sleep in my bed again,” Dean tells Cas, and his lips quirk into a smile when Cas admits it with another blink.

Dean goes to brush his teeth, kicks Cas out of the bathroom to use the facilities, then shucks his shirt and climbs into bed. Not surprisingly, Cas joins him only a few seconds later, and he doesn’t even attempt to kick him out this time. This time, he lies on his side and waits for Cas to snuggle up to his chest before he drapes his arm around him. Cas purrs steadily for several minutes as Dean pets his back, then he rolls over and exposes his belly. Dean chuckles and starts petting. “Holy shit that’s soft.” He keeps weaving his fingers through the short, soft hair, and finds himself thinking how he never thought he’d have a cat in his bed. “You dunno how lucky you are, cat. Cas, I mean. Heh. Catstiel get it? _Cat_ -stiel,” he repeats, laughing harder now. “It’s like werepire but better ‘cause of your name.” He gets a paw to the face for that and he keeps laughing as he pushes it away and goes back to rubbing his belly.

Cas is purring harder than ever and Dean’s eyes are closed, soaking up the sound and the warmth from having Cas in his arms. “Kinda funny to think the grouchy faced angel Cas is a slut for snuggles as a cat,” he says quietly. “Never woulda thought that trench coat was hiding such a softie. Kinda nice,” he admits. As his mind keeps spinning in that direction, he tries to remember the last time he held somebody like this. Jesus, was it Lisa? He shakes that thought away, and instead, says, “Wonder if you’d be this pushy about cuddling as a person.” Cas keeps purring, and Dean keeps rambling. “Bet you are. Come off as all tough and shit but are secretly dyin’ for a nice long hug just like me. Probably why I dreamed about us cuddling this afternoon. Was weird, but m’pretty sure it’s the nicest dream I’ve had since I did my forty years. Just sayin’, angel, you fit real nice on my chest in my dream.”

He jerks back when he feels a rough, thick tongue start licking under his chin. “Snuggling is one thing, but licking my face after I’ve seen you lick between your toes is a _hell no,_ okay?” He yawns again and lets his nose rest on the top of Cas’s furry head. “I’m gonna shut up and go to sleep now,” he says into his fur. “Left the door open a crack so you can go do your business without scratching at the door, so no wakin’ me up or tomorrow you’re on your own,” he threatens, even knowing damn well he won’t give up sleeping with Catstiel in his bed now for nothin’. He presses a quick kiss to the top of his head without thinking, and says, “‘night Cas.”


	3. Chapter 3

Sam comes home the next afternoon looking exhausted and distraught. By unspoken agreement they don’t talk about Jack that night, which means he’s got another day of _Catstiel_ as a shadow. He feels kinda bad about it because as much as he hates not having the real Cas around (he misses his dry humor, the way he always knows something about every damn thing, and the sound of his signature voice rumbling through the bunker when he wakes up in the morning) he doesn’t actually mind the cat version. He enjoys the company, he looks forward to sharing his bed with the little guy, and he likes how soft Cas is when he’s petting him. It’s a relief that for once, he doesn’t have to overthink how awesome it is to spend so much time with Cas... or that it’s actually sorta nice being so close to him. He gets a few bemused looks from Sam that embarrass him at first when he’s scratching under Cas’s chin and telling him what a pretty cat he is, but after a few times he does it again anyway because Cas _is_ a pretty cat, dammit.

They try the summoning spell on the second day Sam’s back, and though it doesn’t work and they’re forced to go back to doing research, Sam stays almost grossly confident that there will be something in one of these books to help track a nephilim _or_ fix Cas. Thankfully, Cas is pretty high maintenance when it comes to needing attention, so he gets to take lots of breaks during research hours. Between petting him, playing with him, Cas sleeping on his shoulder, brushing him, and feeding all of them, he gets away from the monotony of research often enough to make him not lose his mind.

On top of that, he’s been sleeping better with Cas in his bed than he has _in years._ No nightmares, no middle of the night waking, no wondering about what that noise was because he knows Cas has superior hearing and he’d wake him up if there was anything going on. He’s been getting almost eight hours of sleep a night instead of his usual 5-6, and it shows in how he’s got more energy and is able to concentrate for longer when it comes to research... even if it does still make him feel like his brain’s leaking outta his ears.

By day four he’s had it though, and he pushes the most recent old, dusty, stinky ass book away with a curse and another complaint. “Why can’t Jack just turn his damn phone on so we can talk to the stupid kid?”

He watches as Sam’s jaw drops. “Dean, that’s it,” he says excitedly. “We can _pray_ to him! Like I did when Michael was... y’know,” he finishes lamely. “He heard me then. He came back to help us.”

He feels the excitement of a potential breakthrough thrum through him. “Yeah. Yeah, tell him we got Cas and he’s fine and nobody’s mad at him or whatever, and that we’re just worried about him.”

Sam nods eagerly, pushing the pile of books away from him to put his elbows on the table. He clasps his hands together and makes fleeting eye contact with Dean before he bows his head and closes his eyes. “Jack, I—I don’t know if you can hear me, but it’s Sam. Uh, Sam Winchester.” Dean snorts his laughter and earns a hard look from his brother. “I’m here with Dean, and, um, Cas.” Sam waits a beat. “Cas is still a cat, and we know you turned him into one, but listen—we aren’t mad at you, okay? Cas is fine. He found us at the bunker and we’ve been taking good care of him. Dean’s... weirdly good with him,” he says bemusedly. Cas rubs his face along Dean’s cheek for that and Dean scratches behind his ears. “We’re worried about you. We miss you, and we just want you to come home where you belong.” He releases a shallow sigh. “Hope you can hear me, Jack, and I hope you come home soon. Okay, bye.”

Sam opens his eyes and frowns up at Dean, an unasked question visible in those puppy dog eyes of his. “You did good,” Dean tells him. “Hell, that’s the best shot we’ve had since we found four-legs over here.”

Sam nods his acknowledgment, then he leans back in his seat with a sigh. Dean does the same. “So now we wait?”

“Now we wait,” Sam confirms. “Honestly, I could use a break from all this anyway,” he confesses sheepishly, gesturing to the books all around him.

Dean lifts his eyebrows in disbelief. “You need a break from research?”

“We’ve been at it for days and we’re not finding anything. I feel like I’m going nuts,” he says, huffing out a bit of a laugh.

“Thank god,” Dean says vehemently, making his brother laugh again. “If it weren’t for all the Cas breaks I woulda been cross-eyed days ago. I don’t know how you do this all the time.”

“It’s not usually this dry _and_ this fruitless.” Sam pushes away from the table and gets to his feet. “I’m gonna go change and go for a run to clear my head. Then I’m not picking up another textbook until tomorrow.”

“Hopefully Jack’ll be back by then and you won’t need to.”

“Hope so.”

Dean nods to the books. “I’ll pile these up for now.” Sam gives him an _okay_ on his way out of the room, then he’s left to put some order back to the table they were working on. Papers go in piles, books in stacks, and pens and pencils get lined up haphazardly, all while Cas lies in the middle of the table flicking his tail.

Jack doesn’t come that day.

He doesn’t come the next day, either.

Which means Cas has been with them as a cat for a full week, and as much as Dean is still enjoying the constant company and actually sleeping like a well-balanced person, he misses his best friend something fierce. Though he doesn’t mention it to Sam, he’s also starting to worry about what kind of lingering effects Cas being a cat for this long might have on him once he’s back in his human vessel.

As it is, it’s been long enough now that Dean keeps doing stuff he’d never do in front of actual Cas—like passing raunchy gas and picking a wedgie or a booger every now and then—and only after he catches a lingering (judgmental) glance from Cas does he remember it’s _Cas_ in the cat and not just a regular cat. He has a feeling he’s gonna get one hell of an earful whenever he gets the talking version of Cas back, and he’s sure as fuck not looking forward to that.

On day nine of _Catstiel,_ Dean wakes up on his stomach with a raging case of morning wood and lingering thoughts of rough hands and plump lips. In his half-asleep state, his hips start moving to rut his weeping cock against the mattress to keep the party going, and a quiet moan slips out as his body reminds him it’s been way longer than his usual couple of days without any decent solo time.

Deciding he deserves this, he rolls onto his back and glances around the room for Cas. With no sign of him and the door open about a foot (letting him know Cas has escaped to hang out with Sam as usual first thing in the morning) he closes it completely and grabs the lube from his bedside table.

Back on his bed, he warms the liquid between his hands, pushes down the front of his pajama pants, and wraps his hand around his cock. The first slick glide of his fist is enough to have his eyes slipping shut, and he knows right away by the _pull_ behind his navel that this isn’t going to take long at all.

Letting his mind continue to travel down the path his dream laid out for him, he imagines a hard, muscular body between his legs, pinning him down with his weight so calloused hands can explore his bare chest. Just that thought has arousal racing through him like lava and he tightens his fist to start working himself harder and faster. He conjures up the almost-forgotten feeling of facial hair scraping his skin raw along his neck and down his chest, using one hand to tweak his nipples like his dream man would as he works his other to circle his cockhead with every other thrust.

He thinks of a low, rumbling voice, of his name moaned deep and breathless from pink lips as his mouth travels a sharp, prickly jawline. He feels his stomach clench as he hears the echo of it in his head, every syllable over pronounced and sounding like the most sinful delicacy imaginable. His hand speeds up, his thumb rubbing along his slit on the upstroke, and it’s so damn good. The heat, the sweat gathering on his lower back, the flush spreading on his cheeks, the air catching in his lungs, the half-formed image of a man he’s trying desperately to keep faceless—all of it is fucking _perfect._ He’s brought closer to the finish line with every breath, the anticipation of his orgasm pooling in his groin and tightening in his chest.

He’s so close, so impossibly close, and just as his release is beginning to reach the apex, he feels the bed dip beside him. Shocked out of his skin, his eyes fly open only to lock onto blue, blue, blue. It’s the same blue eyes he tries so hard not to think about every time he gets his hands on himself. They’re currently on a cat and way wider than normal due to his surprise, but they undoubtedly belong to _Cas._

His eyes squeeze closed, seeing _his_ Cas looking down at him jerking off, and before another thought reaches his brain, his hips jerk off of the mattress as he starts to come. _Hard._ He can see Cas so fucking clear in his head, his ocean blue eyes liquid hot as they hungrily take in every drop of cum that erupts out of him. He clamps his mouth shut, his teeth grinding together to hold in any sound (or name) that wants to trickle out, and he spills hot and wet onto his stomach with rope after rope of thick cum. The force of it steals his breath, leaves him panting and feeling boneless like he just had the most mind blowing sex of his life instead of a quick jerk-off session, and he groans quietly as he squeezes out every last drop. Once he’s milked himself dry, he wipes off his hand on the leg of his boxers and tries to blink through the orgasm fog now that he’s starting to come down from the high.

Only then does he remember to look for Cas, but as his eyes skirt the small room, he doesn’t see any sign of him. He shrugs to himself, figuring he wasn’t as awake as he thought he was, and reaches for an old shirt to mop himself up before he gets out of bed to throw on a new pair of boxers. After grimacing at the lingering sensation of lube on his hands, he knows he’s gonna need to start his day with a shower instead of food today.

It’s when he bends to picks his robe up off of the ground that he catches the flash of Cas’s eyes glowing in the dark under his bed. He feels his heart sink as embarrassment sets in, and he pulls on the house coat to close it with a whispered, “Son of a bitch.”

He ties it up and then ruffles his hair while he tries to decide what the hell he’s supposed to do now. Does he just forget about it and hope Cas never brings it up...? No, he decides with a humorless laugh. Cas _would_ bring it up. Hell, it’s probably be the first thing out of his mouth when they get him back to his old self, and at least if Dean nips it in the bud now he won’t have to look at the face he was _definitely not_ thinking about while he did the deed.

Not wanting to have this conversation anywhere Sam could possibly overhear them, he sits on the edge of the bed and (quietly) says, “Get out here.”

There’s a slight pause before he hears the jingle of the bell on Cas's collar and claws scrabbling on the floor, then Cas slinks out from under the bed and sits at Dean’s feet, belly lowered to the floor and looking like a limbless loaf of bread. It’s real damn handy when his mortification channels itself into anger at the sight of the stupid hair ball, so he goes with it.

“You coulda fucking _said something_ ya know,” he barks at Cas. Cas turns to glare at the door pointedly before he looks back at him, reminding him without speaking that _he_ was the one who closed the door. As Dean feels his flush spread to his neck, Cas looks directly down to the floor, and maybe because he’s so used to the direct eye contact between them, that in itself is almost jarring. But it’s also sorta encouraging that even _Cas_ knows this whole thing is fucked up enough that he doesn’t want to look at him. Cas keeps his ears folded back, looking all sad and pathetic while he does it, and Dean softens enough to try this again.

“So, uh, I guess that happened,” is what he comes out with this time. His face heats up again from embarrassment and he takes a deep breath to try to collect himself. “Obviously I didn’t know you were in here when I shut the door, and I know you saw some... stuff... you can never unsee, but if we could just pretend this never happened and never mention it again, that’d be freakin' great.”

Cas doesn’t lift his head, but his eyes rise up to meet his slowly. Dean’s face only grows hotter, but he clears his throat and says, “No big deal, right? Everybody does it.” He gets a quick flash of what Cas might look like lying on his bed down the hall in his room, with his slacks pushed down around his ankles and his big fucking hand flying over his...“So!” he exclaims, his voice too loud and too sharp. “Nothing else to talk about. No reason to ever, _ever,_ bring it up again. Nothing... weird... going on here. It’s all good, right?”

Cas’s eyes are squinted and his tail is flicking, but praise Chuck, because the little fucker blinks.

_Yes._

Dean swallows his relief at the confirmation. “We’ll just pretend this never happened?”

_Yes._

“Good,” he says, his voice sounding way too relieved not to be suspicious. “That’s, uh, good,” he repeats more evenly, clapping his hands down onto his knees and getting to his feet once more. He takes the few steps to put his hand on the door handle. “So I’m gonna go... clean up... in the shower.”

He barely even gets the door open before Cas bolts past him in a streak of black, taking off like a bat out of hell down the hall without even a glance back at him.

“Fucking perfect,” he mumbles under his breath, already daydreaming about drowning himself in the shower as he walks down the hallway towards the bathroom.

Once he’s showered and dressed (and he’s procrastinated in his bedroom for another half hour trying to find the balls to face a damn cat) he goes out to the kitchen to get himself a bowl of cereal. He’s about two steps into the room when Sam asks, “Have you seen Cas?”

Dean wills his blush away and lies, “Not since I woke up, no.”

“Huh,” Sam comments. Dean gives him a questioning look and he explains, “He didn’t come out for his food this morning.”

Is Cas avoiding _him?_ The little shit. “He’ll come when he’s hungry.” Dean grabs the milk carton out of the fridge and gives it a wiggle. It’ll barely get his Froot Loops wet. He fixes himself a bowl anyway, pretending like he doesn’t already miss Cas winding around his feet while he does it, and says, “Outta milk.”

“Yeah, we gotta do a milk run today,” Sam says, and Dean looks over to see a cheesy smile on his face.

“Good one,” he says dryly, which only makes Sam laugh. “Mind if I go?”

Sam’s eyebrows almost disappear into his unfortunate hairline. _“You_ wanna go do groceries?”

“So?” He sounds childish even to himself. “I can do groceries.”

He ignores how Sam watches him closely for several long minutes while he eats his breakfast, sneaking glances under the table every few seconds to see if Cas is back to beg yet.

“You know what?” Sam finally says. “I know you’re up to something, but instead of trying to figure out what it is, I’m just gonna shut up and let you do the shopping for once. I’ll send you the list.”

 _“I’ll send you the list,”_ Dean mocks in a high pitched voice.

He gets an annoyed huff for that, but then he’s left alone to slurp his milk out of the bowl in peace. Having coffee after sugary cereal is a mistake, but he knows from experience not having _any_ coffee is a much bigger mistake so he drinks it anyway.

He might linger longer than entirely necessary, kinda-sorta waiting to see if Cas will come out from wherever he’s hiding, but by the time he’s finished two mugs of coffee, he can’t possibly drag this out any further. He rinses out his cup for later and heads back to his room to grab his keys and wallet. No sign of Cas there either (even under the bed). Considering how eager he was to avoid Cas, he’s oddly miffed by Cas being the one doing the dodging.

Since Sam’s not hovering, he swallows his pride and calls out, “Cas?” He listens for the now familiar sound of his bell to let him know he’s coming, but he doesn’t hear anything. He raises his voice even more and yells again, “Cas, I’m goin’ out.” Still nothing. Apparently he’s leaving the bunker without Cas for the first time since he was a cat. Not that it matters.

Figuring he’s done all he can do to invite a cat he can’t even find, he heads for the garage. He glances over his shoulder when he gets to the door at the top of the steps, and though he’s not completely sure, he _thinks_ he sees a beady pair of eyes watching him from under one of the tables in the library. He purses his lips as he slips out the door, letting it slam hard behind him. Whatever. If Cas wants to be a douche about this whole thing, let him hide under the furniture and starve for all he cares.

By the time he arrives at the grocery store, he’s worked himself into a truly foul mood. The list Sam sent him doesn’t help either, because it’s fucking stupid. What the actual hell is a _quinoa?_ He has to Google it, and even then he thinks it might be birdseed. There’s no way he’s buying that. It takes what feels like the whole damn day to get the rest of the shit on the list, and after he’s circled the entire store about a dozen times, he decides he’s _done_ whether he’s actually done or not. The line up at the cash registers are half a dozen people deep in every line, and he closes his eyes to fight off the rise of his temper and the dull throb of what he knows damn well is the beginning of a stress headache.

Seriously _fuck_ Sam for his stupid list. And _fuck_ Cas for hiding under his bed this morning and making everything weird.

On his drive back home, his temper helps him come to the conclusion that this whole thing is Cas’s fault—never would’ve had to volunteer to do groceries if Cas didn’t get turned into a cat in the first place—and when he walks back through the bunker door with the _million_ grocery bags looped around his arms, he’s ready to boot the little fucker like a field goal if he sees him.

Sam probably hears the chorus of grunts he lets out from carrying too many bags at once, because he appears just as he reaches the kitchen. Either his body language or the scowl on his face keeps Sam at a distance, and neither of them say a word when he drops all of the bags in a heap in the middle of the kitchen floor and stomps to his bedroom.

He flings off his jacket, throws his keys and wallet onto his dresser, and flops down onto his bed with his arm folded over his face. He’s _seething,_ and even worse than that, a tiny part of him knows there’s no valid reason for it other than being pissed off at Cas ignoring him this morning. As much as he hates to talk about feelings, he’s not stupid; he knows exactly why that set him off and he hates it because he thought he was over this bullshit.

Truth is, it's too much like when Cas is on two legs in his human meatsuit, always bailing on him without a fucking word and using every excuse in the book to get away from him. Over the last week, he got so used to Cas being around all the time that Cas avoiding him all of the sudden is a big fat reminder that he’s only here right now because he’s stuck here, and as soon as they get his shit figured out he’s probably gonna take the first opportunity to leave like he always does.

He shouldn’t be surprised. If anything, he should be shocked shitless that Cas managed to stick around for, what?, nine days. That’s gotta be some kind of record.

Knowing that lying here with nothing but his thoughts to distract him is a recipe for disaster, he leans over to grab his laptop from beside his bed. He pulls his headphones over his ears, turns on some old episodes of Star Trek he’s watched a thousand times, and zones out. Sam doesn’t bug him until dinner time, and even then all he does is tell him there’s spaghetti when he’s hungry.

Dean grabs the bottle of liquor in his room instead.

It’s after eight when half the bottle has convinced him he actually is hungry, so he moseys out to the kitchen and fixes himself a plate. He eats it cold, standing at the counter with a bit of a fuzzy head, noting with interest that the plate Cas eats off of only has a few kibbles left on it. Guess he found his appetite sometime, too. Hell, for all he knows, Cas was out here all day hanging out with Sam. Maybe it’s just him who he doesn’t want to be around.

Not that he cares, he reminds himself as he shovels another bite of spaghetti into his mouth. He’s been fine without Cas plenty of times before and he will be again.

He rinses off his plate and leaves it in the sink, then decides to take a shower before bed to wash off the day. Maybe he’ll feel better once he’s back in bed and in clean pjs. That hopeful thought and the fantastic fucking water pressure turns his mood around just enough for exhaustion to kick in, and by the time he’s slipped into bed, he’s even feeling generous enough to leave the door open a crack so Cas can get in if he wants to.

He tosses and turns for what feels like ages, refusing to admit that he’s having a hard time falling asleep because there isn’t a cat in his bed. It hasn’t even been ten nights. There’s no way he got so used to sleeping with Cas that he can’t sleep without him already. Sure, the bed seems a little too big, and yeah, it’s sorta quiet without the soft rumbling of Cas’s purr, but he lived his whole life without it until a few days ago. He doesn’t need it to fall asleep now. He’s _not_ this damn pathetic. He’s not.

Possibly out of pure spite, he does eventually fall asleep (with some assistance from a few more mouthfuls of whisky). It’s a fitful sleep, though, and when he sinks into his first nightmare in more than a week, he’s surrounded by blood and gore and Hell. He can hear the screams, feel the blade burning in his hand, taste the drive to hurt, to torture, to kill. He’s so fucking tired, his muscles are burning, and sweat is running down his back and dripping down his forehead but he still can’t stop.

He shakes his head to dislodge the drip instead of wiping more of somebody else’s blood on his face, but it’s really on there. It’s kinda rough actually, a scraping sensation against his skin. He shakes his head again, but this time something soft hits him between his eyes and they pop open in alarm only to fall on black fur and blue eyes. Cas headbutts his cheek and his coarse tongue darts out to lick at his temple again.

“Knock it off,” Dean grumbles.

Cas sniffs along his face instead, and his little cat eyes close tight before he turns his head to rub his cheek along Dean’s. Cas does that twice on one side of his face, then does it twice on the other side, only stopping to gaze at Dean when he automatically runs his fingers through his soft fur. Once he realizes what he’s doing, he stops, dropping his hand and eyeing Cas curiously. He wanted nothing to do with him all day but now he shows up in the middle of the night to lick his face?

“The face licking s’posed to be cat talk for sorry or somethin’?”

Cas doesn’t hesitate even a second before he blinks. _Yes._

Dean sighs heavily through his nostrils, refusing to keep petting Cas just because he apologized. Cas as a cat is cute as fuck but that doesn’t mean he’s gotta forgive him for being a dick all day. But then Cas leans in and licks the apple of his cheek, which makes him huff out a bit of a laugh before he can push him away. As soon as his hand leaves Cas’s fur, though, Cas stretches his neck out and licks him on the other cheek.

“Alright,” Dean says gruffly. He’s pretty happy deep down, but Cas doesn’t have to know that. “You’re done being a dick now I take it?”

_Yes._

Even though he’s a cat, the apology is just as evident in his eyes as it would be any other time. “Fine. But I know you’re just here to use me for me my bed.”

 _No,_ Cas blinks, headbutting him rather hard under his chin to get his point across.

“‘Cause of the nightmare then,” Dean amends.

 _No._ And he gets a paw to the face for that comment.

Dean hums noncommittally but rolls onto his side so Cas can snuggle up against his chest and he can hook his chin over the long fur on the top of Cas’s head. Now that Cas isn’t looking at him anymore, he says, “We both know it ain't the company you came back for, and I’ll deny this to my dying day if you ever bring it up again, but I’m glad—” He stops mid-sentence, choking on his words like he always does when it comes to Cas. “It’s, uh...” He swallows hard and finally forces himself to say, “I can see why some people might get used to sleeping with a cat. It’s sorta nice.”

Cas starts purring so hard he sounds like he’s got a damn motor running. Dean's smile turns into a wince when he feels Cas tilt his head to the side before he gets another lick to the jut of his chin, and damn it all to hell, he’s not even sorry when his hand buries itself in the unbelievably soft fur of Cas’s belly as his eyelids flutter closed.

He’s not the least bit surprised that he doesn’t have any more nightmares that night.


	4. Chapter 4

He wakes up on his back with Cas sprawled lazily across his chest, purring quietly. Cas’s eyes are open and damn blue, and it seems pretty clear that the little weirdo was lying there with his head on his paws either waiting for him to wake up or just... watching him. The reflex to react defensively and say something sarcastic is strong, but because the truth is he’s gonna miss this whenever they get Cas back up on two feet, he keeps his mouth shut.

Maybe he’ll look into getting an actual cat whenever the real Cas comes back.

He pulls his arms up over his head for a stretch, letting a yawn stream out when it comes to him. Cas inches up his chest and noses at his chin, waiting impatiently for some attention. He scratches under his collar, smiling fondly at the way Cas’s eyes close right away and he stretches his neck out to get Dean’s fingers to hit the perfect spot.

Dean has the errant thought that it would probably feel just as good for the real Cas if he loosened his tie a little. Just like that, he sees the fingers currently tucked under Cas's collar actually tucked into Cas’s tie, untying the knot, pulling Cas in towards him by the blue fabric, Cas’s eyes wide with surprise but definitely into it...

“Fuck,” he says under his breath.

Cas opens one eye, his ears twitching like he’s asking for more information.

“Forget it,” Dean tells him, scooping him up so he can sit up and get out of bed. Then, low enough only he can hear it, he adds, “Share a bed with the guy and now I can’t get him outta my damn head,” as he stuffs his arms into his robe.

_Meow._

Dean turns to see Cas sitting just in front of the opened door. Cas looks out the door, then looks back at him with his tail sweeping along the floor.

“You hungry?” Dean guesses.

_Yes._

“So go bug Sam. He’ll feed you.”

Cas takes a few steps forward to weave between his legs, rubbing up against his ankles as he does it. Then Cas stops and looks up at him questioningly. _Meow._

“What?” Cas gets up on his back paws, his front paws resting on Dean’s shin. He huffs and crouches down so they’re face to face. He can see Cas's eyes better this way, get a better idea of what he wants. “What?” he asks again.

Cas tilts his head to the side, leaning in for yet another face rub. Dean runs his hand over the top of his head, dragging his thumb between his eyes and back between his ears. “If you’re hungry, get outta here and go eat. I gotta use the can first.”

_Meow._

“Pretty sure you know by now you’re not followin’ me in there. Even if you won’t keep your damn paws out from under the door.”

Cas does his best impression of an eye roll, making Dean grin. “Seriously. Go eat. I’m good. You good?”

_Yes._

A paw lifts up to touch his face.

“Me?” Dean checks, bewildered. He just told Cas he was good.

_No._

“This not talking thing is getting real old real fast,” Dean complains. Cas narrows his eyes and applies more pressure to his cheek. “Okay.” He exhales a soft breath, mentally preparing himself to talk through this as Cas’s paw goes back to rest on his knee. “I’m good. You’re good. I need to piss like a racehorse and you’re hungry but you won’t go. You want me to go with you or something?”

_No._

“But you were checking on me with the paw to the face, right?”

_Yes._

“Okay. You know I’m good ‘cause I told you. You said you’re good.” Cas’s eyes widen here, and he tilts his head to the side again. He paws Dean’s face, removes his paw, then _meows._ “Me and you?” he guesses.

_Yes._

Dean chuckles lightly, reaching out to playfully flick his bee charm. “We’re good, buddy. Now go fill that fluffy belly of yours so you can work on turning into the stereotypical fat house cat.”

Cas gets all four paws on the floor, shoots Dean an annoyed look over his shoulder, and struts out of his bedroom with his tail held high in the air and a distinct air of aloofness.

  


_“I strut right by with my tail in the air,”_ Dean croons as the lyrics come to him, laughing at his own joke.

The Stray Cat Strut gets stuck in his head after that though, and he’s still humming it to himself and bopping down the hallway after he’s done in the bathroom and is heading for the coffee.

“Hey Sammy, we got the Stray Cat Strut on vinyl in here somewhere?” he asks as he enters the room.

“Probably?” Sam offers, sounding confused.

Dean shrugs in response. “Cas was showing off his tail and it reminded me of it. Now it’s stuck in my head. It can be _Catstiel’s_ theme song. Whaddya think Cas?”

Cas looks over from where he’s hunched over his breakfast plate and clearly blinks _no._

Dean can hear, “No, Dean,” in his head as clear as day and can’t wipe the smile off of his face as he wiggles his butt to the silent beat of the song while he starts a fresh pot of coffee.

“You woke up in a good mood this morning,” Sam comments.

Dean shrugs again but stays quiet, not wanting to encourage anymore talking before caffeine and risk ruining his good mood. Instead, he grabs his coffee mug, quietly singing, “But he’s got cat class and he’s got Cas style,” not missing the half-hearted hiss Cas gives him between bites of kibble.

Before he can pour himself the finished coffee and Google more lyrics to taunt Cas with (is there something about Casanova in there or is he thinking of another song?), he’s interrupted by a familiar sound he hasn’t heard in what feels like ages.

_Wings._

He spins, half expecting Cas to be standing there as an angel again, only to find Jack sitting at the table next to Sam.

“Hello,” Jack says brightly.

“Jack!” Sam exclaims.

Cas jumps like a damn rabbit from the counter to the floor up to the table, dashing across it to get his two front paws on Jack’s shoulders. Cas looks at him closely, almost like he’s inspecting him for damage, while Jack says, “Hi Cas. You look great! Cool bee!”

“Where the hell have you been, kid?” Dean asks breathlessly, forgetting all about the coffee for the time being.

“Oh. Sorry about that. I wanted to come back, but I couldn’t,” Jack says. As if that explains _anything._

“Are you hurt? Is somebody after you?” Sam checks.

“No, I’m fine. I just had to wait ten days.”

“Ten days,” Dean repeats, glancing at Sam quickly before looking back at Jack and Cas. “Why ten days?”

“I heard on the radio that it takes ten days to break a habit.”

He’s heard the saying, but he’s pretty sure...

“What? That’s not—”

“Sam,” Dean cuts in sharply. Sam snaps his mouth shut and nods in understanding after seeing the look of warning. The last thing they need is for Sam to explain that science says it actually takes three weeks or something and have Cas stuck as a cat for another ten days. “What habit were you hoping to break?” he asks Jack.

Jack presses his mouth into a tight line. He looks down at Cas, scratching him between the ears, and after a stretch of silence when he doesn’t respond, he eventually answers, “I shouldn’t say.”

“You know you can tell us anything, right?” Dean tries. “We’re family.”

The sound of his voice seems to call Cas back to him, because he walks across the table to where he’s standing now. Dean automatically draws Cas closer so he can run his hand down Cas’s back to settle both of their nerves.

Jack smiles warmly at the two of them. “Thank you.”

“We just want to make sure you’re okay,” Sam says gently. “You are okay, right?”

“I missed being home, but yes, I’m okay.”

“With you gone and Cas covered in fur, it’s been way too quiet around here,” Dean admits. “Which, uh, brings up a good point.” He exchanges a glance with Sam, gets a nod in response, and says, “Can you turn Cas back?”

“Oh! Yes,” Jack says easily. “Does he want to be turned back?”

_Meow!_

They all laugh a little. “I’ve gotten pretty good at the whole cat talk thing,” Dean says proudly. Cas arches up into his hand and he realizes he’s stopped petting him, so he starts again, earning himself a rumbling purr from his best friend. “And that was a yes if I ever heard one.”

“Okay,” Jack nods. He looks at Cas and says, “You might want to get on the floor so you don’t end up standing on the kitchen table.”

Cas hops down onto the floor, rubbing himself along Dean’s ankles, and because it’s suddenly really clear he’s about to say goodbye to the little furball, he crouches down to give him one last pat. As much as he’s looking forward to seeing Cas again, he’s gonna miss the cat version, so he ignores the looks he feels from Jack and Sam and gives Cas one more scratch under his chin as he says a silent goodbye, then he straightens up and Cas sits like a good little cat right next to him.

“Ready, Cas?” Dean asks.

_Yes._

Jack’s eyes glow gold for a single beat, and between one blink and the next, there’s a soft little _pop_ and a very disheveled, very _naked_ Castiel is standing next to him on two feet. There’s a jingle of a bell and Dean’s hand darts out to catch the falling collar that’s snapped off of Cas’s neck, his hand brushing a surprisingly firm stomach dusted with hair as he does it. Only then does it really click that Cas is standing so close to him he can feel the body heat coming off of him, stark naked in the middle of the kitchen.

He turns his head to save Cas’s modesty and avert his eyes, but not before he can stop them from sweeping quickly from head to toe, getting a fast but damn good look at the tanned, toned, shockingly _thick_ body next to him. That trench coat does not do the dude any favors, that’s for damn sure.

Jack says, “Oh, right,” and then there’s another _whoosh_ ing sound and he hears Cas’s low voice for the first time in almost three weeks.

“Thank you, Jack.”

Just the sound of that rough voice combined with Cas’s proximity is enough to have him peeking at him out of the corner of his eyes, which is when he discovers the _whoosh_ was Jack dressing Cas in his usual suit and trench coat. The relief of _really_ having Cas back hits him so hard and so fast, he’s already throwing his arms around Cas’s shoulders in a tight hug before he can think better of it.

Cas is uncharacteristically a little slow on the uptake and Dean starts to worry he jumped the gun. A second later though, Cas is holding him back and he can’t stop himself from saying, “Damn good to have you back, man.”

But then he feels the rough scrape of Cas’s facial hair on his cheek and before he can piece together what’s happening, Cas is rubbing his cheek along Dean’s jaw and nuzzling into him.

“Uh.” It comes out on a breathless laugh, and he feels his face turning about twenty different shades of red as he forces Cas back by his shoulders, giving him one final pat on the shoulder before he drops his hands entirely.

“Sorry,” Cas says, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I might still have some lingering cat instincts.”

Then their eyes lock, and goddammit, he can’t look away. They’re exactly the same shade of blue as they were when he was a cat but seem so different not surrounded by fur, and as Cas stares back like he always does, Dean can feel his face burning, his chest tightening, the air so thick with everything unsaid between them he wouldn’t be surprised if he choked on it, and _still_ he can’t look away. It’s _Cas,_ and dammit, has he ever missed the nerdy little guy.

Then a giant hand claps down on Cas’s shoulder and the moment is over when Sam pulls Cas into a hug of his own. He absolutely does not feel a stab of possessiveness or jealousy at the sight of Sam’s fingers digging into Cas’s trench coat, and as he looks down at the ground to see anything _but_ that, he remembers he still has Cas’s collar clutched firmly in his clenched fist.

“Was starting to think you were gonna be stuck like that forever,” he hears Sam say as they pull apart.

“It wasn’t all bad,” Cas answers, stepping back closer to Dean’s side. “But thank you for trying so hard to get me back.” He looks over at Dean. “Both of you.” Then he turns back to Jack. “And thank you for turning me back, Jack.”

“Happy to help,” Jack says earnestly. “How do you feel?”

Cas glances down at his hands, curling and spreading his long, graceful fingers. “Odd, but good.”

“How about you, Dean?” Jack asks.

Dean frowns, a little thrown off by Jack asking him that. “You know, good?” he says questioningly, trying to figure out where Jack’s going with this. “Can breathe a little easier knowing Cas isn’t stuck on four legs forever.”

“Did you tell Castiel that you love him?” Jack wonders.

Dean drops the collar, a flush spreading like a wildfire from his cheeks all the way down to his toes. He manages to force out a completely unconvincing, choked-off laugh around, “W-what?” as he crouches down to pick it up again.

“My uncle said all it would take for you to admit you’re in love with Castiel is a pussy.”

It’s official, he’s never been so embarrassed in his entire life. Jack said that so matter-of-fact that he can hardly process it—both the language coming from _Jack_ of all people and the subject matter. His mouth opens and closes like a fish several times as he tries to fight through the mountain of questions all trying to get past his lips at the same time.

“Your uncle?” Castiel questions, and yeah, that’s a good, safe place to start.

“Gabriel,” Jack answers.

Dean closes his eyes as he pushes a hand through his hair. He should’ve known Gabriel had something to do with a fucked up situation like this. Who even let him talk to a kid in the first place?

“Gabriel’s alive?” Sam asks.

“No. I don’t think so anyway,” Jack replies. “He told me in the alternate universe before he died.”

There’s a handful of seconds of drawn-out silence when Dean refuses to look at anything but the table, but Sam breaks it before he has to. “I think we’re all a little confused here, Jack.” When Dean huffs humorlessly, Sam continues. “Start from the beginning. What did Gabriel tell you exactly?”

“We were in the alternate universe, and Dean and Castiel were arguing over something. I couldn’t hear them, but they were getting in each other’s personal space the way Cas warned me people don’t like, and then there was a long time when they stopped talking and just stared at each other still standing really close together.”

Dean feels like his face has caught on fire because he remembers exactly what conversation Jack’s talking about and how he had stopped mid-argument about how Cas should keep Jack away from Lucifer at all costs because he’d been so distracted by how incredibly hot and powerful Cas looked all pissed off. He knows without asking that Cas would remember it, too, though he doesn’t know if Cas knows why he stopped arguing so abruptly back then.

“I was watching because neither of them ever act like that with anybody else, and I didn’t understand. That’s when Gabriel came up behind me and said Castiel would be so much happier if Dean would get his head out of his ass, but I didn’t understand that either. I told him, and Gabriel explained if Cas had a pussy Dean wouldn’t be so afraid to be in love with him and they would both be happy.”

Dean’s completely speechless, and as he skirts his eyes quickly over to Cas to gauge his reaction, he can see that the crease between his eyebrows is deeper than ever. Cas turns to look at him, and feeling like eye contact with Cas might actually be the thing that kills him right now, he looks away quickly and clears his throat like a fucking moron.

It’s Sam, once again, who seems to be the only one who can form actual words. “And you think a, uh, a pussy is a cat?”

“I didn’t at first. I had no idea what a pussy was and when I asked Gabriel, he said he didn’t want to ruin the surprise. But when you and Dean were hunting, Castiel and I were watching cartoons.”

“The Bugs Bunny and Tweety Show,” Cas says.

“And the yellow bird, the Tweety bird, said—”

“I thought I saw a pussy cat,” Dean says dryly, the pieces all coming together now.

“Exactly! You and Gabriel must have seen the same show!” Jack says happily. “Then I finally understood. Gabriel thought if I turned Castiel into a cat you would be happy. I thought about it for a minute, and I realized you hardly ever smile, Dean, so I thought, ‘I still have some power left. I should use it to make somebody I care about happy.’” He smiles brightly then, looking between them. “So, did it work? Are you happy? Did you tell Castiel you’re in love with him?”

Several responses run through his mind all in a single second. The very first thing he thinks to do is just high-tail it outta there and lock himself in his room for the next thirty years or so until this all blows over. Then he considers being the worst possible version of himself and faking a robust laugh like loving Cas is the funniest thing he’s ever heard. He also thinks about flat out denying it before he wonders if he can lie well enough to pull it off.

What he ultimately ends up doing (though he can barely get the words out through the way his throat feels like it’s closing up) is saying, “Think you were right, Sam. All the cartoons must’ve been scrambling his brains after all.” He laughs weakly and looks at Sam for support, but his brother’s frowning and looking all kinds of disappointed in him, so he looks back down at the table, grasping for something else to say to take everybody’s attention off of him. “And for the record, never _ever_ listen to advice from Gabriel,” Dean says to Jack. “About anything. _And_ while we’re on the subject, a pussy isn’t a damn cat, it’s a vagina.”

Jack says, “Oh.”

At the exact same time Castiel grouses, _“Dean.”_

Dean fakes the courage he doesn’t have in order to look Cas in the face, shooting him a cocky smile he hopes Cas can't see through. “You saw what happened when he mixed them up the first time. Not something we want him to confuse any other time, especially when the kid starts looking up porn. Don’t wanna get _those_ wires crossed, if you know what I mean.”

Cas rolls his eyes, but before he can say anything, Jack says, “So I should have turned Castiel into a woman.”

Dean’s eyebrows lift as he imagines a tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed, curvy woman with Cas’s low, husky voice, but his thoughts are cut short when Sam and Castiel both vehemently say, _“No!”_

“But if Cas is in love with Dean and Dean only likes women—”

There is no way _in hell_ they’re going down _that_ road, so Dean blurts out the only thing he can think of. “Cas isn’t in love with me!” He looks at Cas for confirmation, for backup, but Cas only maintains eye contact for a millisecond before he looks away, his eyes darting everywhere _but_ at Dean.

It feels like his heart starts beating a mile a minute, the silence so loud in the bunker it’s fucking deafening. Somewhere deep down, in a place he tries to keep buried a lot of the time, he’s aware that Cas not agreeing with him means something—is really fucking significant, actually—but then his brain starts working again and he realizes there’s no fucking way. Cas is an _angel._ Cas is everything that’s good and pure and righteous, and Dean’s nothing. He’s been _in Hell._ He volunteered to torture people down there and Cas saw him do it. There’s absolutely no way Cas could love him, and so he asks again. “Right, Cas?”

Cas lifts his eyes up to find Dean's, and he's shocked stupid when he sees they’re watering, damn near liquid with it. Now Cas is the one doing the mouth opening and closing thing, his eyes turning from liquid to too-wide with confusion, with clear indecision that rocks Dean to his core.

Finally, Cas croaks, “Dean, I-I—”

The confusion in Cas’s gaze transforms into something warm and soft, and just like that, his breath catches in his lungs as he realizes Cas just might be stupid enough not to say no.

He raises a single hand, stopping whatever the hell Cas might’ve said, and his voice barely comes out in a whisper when he says, “Don’t.”

Cas’s mouth snaps shut, his eyes harden as he looks away again, the whites of his eyes shining with new moisture now, and Dean feels like he just shot himself through the chest as he turns on his heels and walks out of the room without another word.

He _wants_ to storm into his bedroom, pull the covers up over his head and pretend none of that just happened, but he also knows that between Sam, Cas, and now Jack, somebody’s gonna be on his ass in the next five minutes to try to force a chick flick moment. So he books it to the bathroom instead and takes his time in the shower and getting dressed for the day. After an hour of resolutely, repeatedly denying anything weird happened in the kitchen this morning, he figures he might as well face the beast head-on.

He finds Sammy in the library, alone.

“Hey,” Dean says as he walks in, plunking his ass in a seat across from him in his best attempt at acting like everything’s peachy keen. “What ch’ya working on?”

“Nothing, really,” Sam says with a shrug. “Mostly just putting stuff back and checking for cases.”

“Got any bites? I could use a hunt right now.”

The second the words are out of his mouth he knows it was the wrong thing to say, and he’s proved right by the worry lines appearing on Sam’s forehead. “Hey, uh—”

“Nope.” Dean says it quick and rough, wanting Sam to get the message that this little heart-to-heart he’s working up to is not gonna happen.

“Dean—” Sam tries again.

“Sam, cut it out,” Dean says firmly. “I don’t wanna talk about it, okay? I’m fine.”

“You?” Sam asks breathlessly. “I wasn’t gonna talk to you about _you,_ Dean. I was gonna talk to you about Cas.”

Dean’s heart clenches in his chest, worry and reluctance warring with one another. He’d rather chop off his left nut than talk to Sam about Cas after what happened today, but Cas _was_ a cat for the last ten days, and if there’s something wrong he needs to know about it.

“What?” he barks out.

“Have you even checked on him?”

“Yeah, I went in there with homemade soup and offered a neck massage.” Sam pulls a face, letting him know without saying anything how unimpressed he is. “Why would I check on him?”

“Maybe because he’s been stuck on four legs without being able to say anything at all for at least ten days, then he gets turned back _naked_ in front of all of us and has all of Jack’s crap thrown at him in the first thirty seconds.” Dean pulls his mouth to the side and looks away. “You saw the way he tried to scent your face. He’s obviously still struggling with the cat thing, and he doesn’t talk to me the way he talks to you.”

“Oh yeah. Me and Cas, just a couple of gossip queens.”

“Come on man,” Sam scoffs, instantly putting his back up.

“‘Come on’ what?”

Sam raises his eyebrows. “We both know you’re not as clueless as you pretend to be.” Before Dean can begin to argue, Sam says, “And you don’t have to do anything about if you don’t want to, but for once, just drop the act. You’re not fooling anybody.”

Immediately going on the defensive, he says, “Yeah, well, neither’s the air freshener you douse the bathroom with every time you drop a bomb but that never stops you.”

“Very funny,” Sam says dryly, dismissing Dean’s quiet chuckling at his own joke. Sam looks back down at his laptop with an angry look on his face and starts clicking hard enough to press it right through the table.

“Fine,” Dean sighs. “I’ll go check on the guy.”

“And be nice,” Sam says as he walks back down the hallway.

It’s weird in a way to be walking to Cas’s room when he hasn’t been in it for so long, but even weirder when he doesn’t make it that far because he finds Cas in his room on the way by.

“What are you doing?” Dean asks from the doorway, causing Cas to jump and straighten up from where he was hunched over the foot of the bed.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, sounding contrite.

He also looks a little lost, Dean realizes. So he softens his voice before he repeats, “What are you doing?”

“I came looking for you, but when you weren’t here I—I started looking for the collar you bought me. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“It’s fine,” Dean says, surprised to find he means that as he walks further into the room. “I just stashed in my drawer, but if I ever catch you in there I’ll kick your ass.”

“I understand.”

Dean goes to grab it for him and only then does he see it’s nestled in the drawer right next to the lube. No fucking wonder Cas understands, he was in the damn room the last time Dean used it. Forcing that thought away before he embarrasses himself so bad he lights the room up red, he snatches the collar and holds it out for Cas.

Cas takes it, looking down at it with a fond, soft smile that makes something inside of him feel like melting butter. Then Cas touches the bee charm with his finger and glances up at him.

  


“Can I keep this?”

Dean shrugs, secretly pleased but hoping not to show it. “If you want. Not like it was expensive or anything.”

“I know, but nobody’s ever bought me anything before.”

Dean swallows, feeling like the breath’s just been knocked out of him. “What?”

Cas shrugs, a human gesture he’s picked up since he started hanging out with them. “I don’t have the need for much, but this,” he says, holding up the bee for Dean to see, “this is unlike anything I’ve ever had.” Dean doesn’t know what to say to that. He wants to tell him it doesn’t mean anything and not to make it weird, but he doesn’t want to hurt Cas’s feelings, and a tiny part of him is kinda pleased he was the first one to buy something for Cas. “I know it was an impulse purchase, something to tease me about my odd fascination with bees from a while ago, but I thought it would be a nice reminder of my time as a cat.” Cas breathes out through his nose, his mouth turning up into a small smile as his eyes find Dean’s. “There’s something I never expected to say.”

And dammit, that makes him chuckle, too. “Not the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to you.”

“I guess not,” Cas agrees, his smile still lingering in his eyes. “I _was_ a cartoon.”

Dean smiles genuinely at the reminder. “I, uh, noticed you had the whole scenting instinct or whatever going on earlier. You feelin’ okay?” he checks, his cheeks feeling a little warm.

“It’s a little disorienting,” Cas admits.

“Being on two feet again?”

“Not that part so much. Just small things like wanting to leave my scent behind, feeling the urge to curl up on the foot of your bed, to spend more time with you.”

A hand goes to the back of Dean’s neck, a nervous habit he’s aware of but one he can’t stop. “Guess I let cat-you get closer than usual.”

“Well,” Cas says awkwardly, sounding like that might be all he has to say. But then he adds, “My fur _was_ very soft.”

Dean can’t help the grin that curves his lips at that. “You’re not wrong,” he says honestly, and Cas’s mouth presses into the line that usually serves as a smile for him, the true smile in the shine of his eyes. “Obviously there needs to be some, y’know, boundaries now that you’re not yea big,” he says, holding his hands apart to show how small Cas used to be. “And I know you’re probably gonna take off now that you can—”

“I don’t have anything pressing,” Cas cuts in, taking half a step closer to him.

Dean swallows, tries not to think about the way his best friend seems almost eager to see where he’s going with this. “But if you want... to uh, ease you into gettin’ comfortable on your own again, I mean, we could watch somethin’ in the Dean Cave later. If you want.”

“I’d like that,” Cas answers. “I enjoy watching movies with you.”

Dean feels a little over-warm under his flannel remembering how he said pretty much the same thing to Cas the cat not that long ago. He nods mechanically, forces himself to flash a smile. “Need anything else, or are you good?”

“I’m good,” Cas says decisively. “Thank you again for the collar and charm.” He takes a few hesitant steps towards the door, but Dean can almost feel his reluctance to leave.

He watches while Cas’s thick fingers run down the frame of his door as he lingers there for just a few seconds longer than usual, and it tugs at something inside of him. Makes him want to fix it. Before he can think of all the reasons not to, he says, “Cas?” Cas turns back almost comically fast, his too-blue eyes just this side of over-wide. “You got anything goin’ on now?”

Cas squints for a second. “No,” he answers, almost like a question.

“Might be able to get an episode or two of something in before Sam comes to put us to work,” he offers.

“Now?”

“If you want,” Dean replies, silently cursing himself for how many times he’s said that in the last five minutes.

Cas though? Cas finally looks at ease; his shoulders relax, his stance loosens, his lips almost-but-not-quite smile, and the lost look in his eyes vanishes so fast Dean’s left feeling almost... fluttery... about it. He shoves that down and walks past Cas, their bodies brushing as he crosses through the doorway causing the return of the flutters with a vengeance, and he leads the way through the maze of halls to the Dean Cave telling himself to get a damn grip.

He flips the lights on and settles into his recliner, mindlessly moving his arm out of the way for Cas to leap on his lap... which is when he realizes that’s likely never gonna happen again. He laughs at himself, answers Cas’s questioning head tilt with, “Just moved my arm outta the way so you the cat could jump up.”

Cas smiles, a real, rare smile, but gets himself comfortable on the other chair without commenting.

Dean turns on the TV and starts flipping through the channels, landing on House Hunters after a couple of minutes. He knows this will keep them both entertained for however long they have. They jump in halfway through an episode, so they mostly only get to see the couple make their final decision, and when Dean’s shaking his head at how the couple blew their budget, Cas says, “Dean?” Dean glances over to see Cas sitting straight up in the chair, not reclining but still managing to look pretty comfortable. “This is already much better. Thank you.”

He wants to reply with something about how it’s only fair since Cas helped him by keeping him company as a cat, how he felt less lonely and more human because of him than he has in years, but he doesn’t have it in him. What he does say is, “You got it.”

They only make it through another episode and a half before Sam comes in looking for help with some Enochian text he found. Dean mutters something under his breath about how Sam should be an expert by now, but that only gets him roped into helping. Jack sits at the table with them, thumbing through some old encyclopedias and reading out random facts to keep them entertained, and though he isn’t exactly pleased to be spending the day cataloging Men of Letters stuff, it’s nice to have Sam, Jack, and Cas all in one room again.

They end up skipping lunch so it’s early when Dean announces he’s going to go start dinner. Considering Cas has been like his shadow today, he isn’t surprised when he joins him in the kitchen only a minute after he got there, but he is surprised by the offer to help.

“You? Help cook?” Dean asks.

“I didn’t notice that you do all of the cooking for everybody until I started following you around.”

“Getting your dirty paws all over my counter,” Dean bitches, grabbing a couple of steaks from the fridge.

Cas rolls his eyes. “How can I help?”

“You don’t even eat,” Dean reminds him.

“How can I help?” Cas repeats, stubbornly.

Dean swallows his smile before he faces him again. “How about you start with sanitizing the counter?”

Cas glares at him for several seconds before he snaps his fingers, his eyes glowing blue with grace. Dean feels that electric pulse—the sensation of power—send goosebumps down his spine, but he ignores it and the thrill it always gives him, and says, “Cheater.”

“Now what can I do to help?”

“Listen,” Dean says seriously. “I appreciate you wanting to help, alright? But it’s steak and potatoes. Not exactly a two man job.” When Cas looks like he thinks he’s being dismissed, he says, “You can stay for the company if you need it, though. I’m not gonna kick you out.”

Cas sits himself at the table, again, looking relieved, and Dean cooks. He seasons the steak, scrubs the potatoes, nukes them so he doesn’t have to cook them so long, and just to stop Sam from bitching, he washes some asparagus and gets it ready to cook, too. The weird part is that even though he’s aware that Cas watching his every move... it’s _not_ weird. Cas is completely silent, and though he knows his eyes don’t leave him at all because he can feel them on him, he doesn’t really mind. It’s strangely comforting; probably because it reminds him of the same dude but in cat form. Whatever the reason is, he doesn’t mention it. He doesn’t attempt to break the silence, either, and he definitely doesn’t say anything about how nice it was to do everything on his own without being left alone to do it, but he feels it.

Feels lighter.

When he calls Sam in to eat, Jack comes with him, and the four of them keep up a running conversation about nothing at all, which is the total opposite of him and Cas while he was cooking, but still comforting just the same. Since it’s a week night and they’re all home, they scoot into the TV room to pile onto the old (but very comfortable) couch to watch Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy on an equally old television.

He, Cas, and Sam are all pretty evenly matched. With Cas’s knowledge of the last bazillion years and knowing the bible back to front, Sam’s gigantic sponge brain sopping up every damn thing he’s heard, seen, and read since he was a kid, and what Dean’s picked up hunting combined with pop culture knowledge the other two are lacking, it always makes for a competitive game. By his count, he got the most correct responses this time, and since he’s a little bit of a bragger, he gets why Sam up and leaves them, telling him he’ll see him in the morning. Jack bails to his room not much later, explaining he’s on the third book in the Harry Potter series and needs to know what happens to Sirius Black, so that just leaves Cas and Dean.

Sitting shoulder to shoulder.

For appearances sake, he shifts over a little bit, putting unnecessary space between them when he was perfectly comfortable before, but thankfully Cas doesn’t say anything about it. Being left alone with Cas after everything that’s happened in the last ten days (particularly today) has him feeling a little self-conscious, but he’s comfortable and he knows Cas wants to stay close.

So he asks, “Movie?” and Cas nods his okay as he sinks back further into the couch.

Dean drags his ass outta the seat and pops in _The Untouchables._ It’s one he’s watched countless times but never gets old, and even though he’s pretty sure Cas has watched it with him before, he doesn’t complain, and the two of them settle into the movie without speaking.

The two hours pass without incident, though he almost dozes off by the end, lulled to sleep by Cas’s warmth and the sense of calm he feels just from spending time with him. It isn’t until Cas nudges him awake that he realizes his eyes shut, and then he’s pulling himself to his feet and dragging himself to his room with barely a goodnight spoken between them.

Still riding the sleepy feeling he had next to Cas on the couch, he collapses face-first on the bed and passes out in his undershirt and boxers within minutes.

  



	5. Chapter 5

He bolts upright in bed hours later, desperately wishing he could forget all the faces he just saw being brutally murdered behind his eyelids, all by his hands but because of Michael’s will. His bare feet hit the cold bunker floor and he decides to go get something to drink when he pulls the door open to find Cas standing right there.

“Dean,” Cas says, his voice laden with relief but his shoulders stiff with tension.

“Wh-what are you doin’? You okay? Sammy?” he asks, his heart leaping into his throat.

“Everyone’s fine,” Cas answers immediately.

Dean nods, his heart trying to come down from panic mode. “Tryin’ to steal my dead guy robe?” he questions, and Cas relaxes again with a tiny smile. He gets the impression Cas thought he was gonna be mad or something, so he pats Cas between the shoulders as he slips past him in the hallway and heads towards the kitchen.

“Why are you awake?”

“Nightmare,” Dean admits, still too shaken up to remember to lie. He tries to mask his vulnerability by grabbing a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Dean shoots him a bland look; when does he ever want to talk about it? He looks away from the patient expression on Cas’s face and says, “Just Michael crap.”

“Reliving the things he did with your body but without your consent,” Cas deduces correctly. Dean shakes his head to try to erase face after face of dead people—people who are dead because of him—as they swim to the forefront of his mind, finding all of his memories too raw to shove down in the middle of the night. “You know that’s not your fault.”

“Doesn’t stop me from seein’ it,” Dean says gruffly.

“Dean, if I could...” Cas lets the words trail off, knowing that Dean’s aware of the unspoken sentiment even without him voicing it.

“I know,” he responds, leaning back against the kitchen counter with the glass still held in his hand. He glances down at it when he says, “Just, uh, payment, I guess, for saying yes in the first place. Shoulda listened to you when you tried to stop me.”

Cas tilts his head to the side sadly, taking several steps to close the distance between them until he’s close enough that he can feel the familiar warmth coming from Cas’s body. He moves a little closer still, pulled into Cas’s orbit like he always is, and shifts foot to foot in a futile attempt to stop the cold floor seeping into his skin.

“Asking you not to say yes to Michael was me being selfish more than anything,” Cas finally says.

“Selfish?”

“We always seem to be losing each other,” Cas replies sadly. “I didn’t want to lose you again.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say to that or what to do with the ache it’s causing inside of him, so to urge the conversation into more comfortable territory, he confesses, “Really thought I could take him. Was stupid.”

“You weren’t stupid. Reckless maybe,” Cas relents. “But in the end you did beat him, Dean.”

Dean scoffs sardonically. “And now look at me. Can’t even face my own bedroom.”

“You could if you had to.” Cas says it so plainly that he almost believes him. “Or we could watch another movie until you feel better.”

“You back to not sleeping?” Dean asks.

“Not exactly,” Cas says, starting to walk towards the old couch they were on before. Dean follows without thinking. “Still fighting some of the left over cat instincts.”

Now Cas standing outside his bedroom door makes sense. “Wanting company.”

Cas makes a vague sound of agreement, and the two of them deposit themselves onto the couch; Cas carefully and with purpose, Dean with a flop. He flicks on the TV and tucks his feet up so he can smush them down the side of the couch to warm them up. _Friends_ is on, so he leaves it there and lets the mindless comedy soothe his nerves. It isn’t long before he’s regretting leaving his dead guy robe in the bedroom; the bunker is always a little cold, but it’s a lot more noticeable at night.

Because he knows Cas won’t mind, he shifts a little closer to soak up some of his warmth. One arm presses against Cas’s and a shiver wracks him.

“Are you cold?” Cas asks.

“Bunker’s always cold,” Dean grumbles.

Cas looks around, obviously searching for something, then slips his trench coat off and says, “Use this.”

Dean’s cheeks heat up, but he _is_ cold and it’s not like anybody else is around to see him, so he takes it and drapes it over himself like a blanket. “Guess this makes me the chick, huh?”

Cas cocks his head to the side, his eyes squinting and forehead wrinkling for a few seconds before his face smooths out. “Because I gave you my jacket.”

Dean snorts lightly, giving into the urge to lean more of his weight into Cas’s warm shoulder as he looks back at the TV. “Can almost see you flipping through your brain for the right thing when you do that.”

They settle back into watching the show, and Dean chuckles as he realizes it’s the episode with the ATM vestibule. As he watches Chandler freak out over being trapped with a model, the remaining dregs of his nightmare are chased away by the _Friends_ on TV and the one next to him on the couch, and he loses the battle against his drooping eyelids in record time.

He’s pulled into consciousness by Castiel’s rough voice. “Dean,” Cas says, obviously trying to keep his voice down. “Dean, wake up. Sam’s coming.”

That’s enough to make him pry his eyes open, which is when he remembers he fell asleep on the couch with Cas. He doesn’t remember falling asleep _on_ Cas on the couch, but it only takes a split second to realize his head is definitely pillowed on Cas’s shoulder. What’s even worse than the trench coat still tucked around him is the fact that his arm is reached out across Cas’s stomach like he was trying to hold Cas in his sleep... _and_ his fingers are clutching Cas’s dress shirt. Apparently he’s one hell of a clingy sleeper.

He sits up slowly, wiping drool from the side of his mouth and wishing he could sink right into the couch and straight through the floor.

“You looked so peaceful when you fell asleep,” Cas explains, “and you didn’t have any nightmares so I didn’t want to wake you.”

“‘s fine,” he grunts. “Sorry for goin’ octopus on you.”

“I don’t mind being close to you.”

Dean swallows hard, his brain stalling from trying to come up with an appropriate response _to that_ this early in the morning. He hears Sam’s giant moose feet glomping through the bunker, so he passes Cas back his trench coat with a sideways smile and a, “Thanks.” He watches, maybe a little too closely, as Cas shrugs back into it, and when Cas looks back at him and their eyes catch, he feels his heart lurch. Cas looks a little rumpled with sleep, his trench coat wrinkled, and his collar folded in on itself. Dean fixes it without thinking, his face flushing when his fingers brush Cas’s bare neck and Cas’s eyes flutter shut and his lips part.

Fuck, he’s gorgeous. All long eyelashes, sharp, stubbled jaw...

“You’re up early,” Sam says, making Dean startle so hard he damn near falls off the couch.

“‘cause a you stompin’ around in here like a damn elephant.”

Sam huffs. “I’m going to grab a shower.” Then he turns to Cas and says, “Do us both a favor and get some caffeine into him before I come back.”

Dean gives him the finger and turns back to face the TV with a scowl on his face and his hands planted resolutely on his knees. Can’t keep them to his damn self otherwise.

Cas nudges him, those blue eyes looking at him all fond and amused. “Coffee?”

“Please,” Dean says with feeling, aiming a pleading look in his direction.

Cas’s eyes turn ridiculously warm, and as Dean’s still trying to deal with that, Cas leans in to nuzzle his cheek, catching him off guard so much he doesn’t even budge. He freezes instead, tenses up with his breath caught in his lungs, somehow still managing to get a deep breath of Cas’s naturally fresh scent that shoots right between his legs. Then Cas pulls away with his eyes wide and his mouth gaping like a fish.

“I—I forgot,” Cas explains, sounding spooked.

Dean licks his lips nervously as he glances away. “‘s fine.”

“For a second I thought I was a cat again, and I—”

“Cas, I get it,” Dean replies. “Besides, I was literally drooling on your shoulder a few minutes ago. I think we’re even when it comes to doing embarrassing shit today.”

Cas searches his eyes for a moment, then nods. “I’ll get you some coffee.”

He waits for Cas to leave the room entirely before he flops back on the couch, letting his head loll onto the cushion behind him as he stares up at the ceiling.

_I don’t mind being close to you._

Was that just the cat thing talking again? Or was that really Cas... Cas who didn’t deny being in love with him less than a day ago? The same Cas who sat up with him all night with his head on his shoulder and his arm wrapped around his waist, who said, “I don’t mind being close to you.”

 _Fuck._ Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Dean’s an impulsive guy. He’s a do now and think later type, and _the only thing_ that’s been keeping him from putting his hands on the dorky angel to muss him up in the first place is because he never thought in a million years Cas—a freakin’ angel—would feel the same way about him. But if Cas is on board, maybe he can finally find out just what those lips taste like, if his shoulders and thighs are really as muscular as they looked when he got a glimpse of them yesterday...

“Good morning!”

Dean’s eyes fly open as Jack’s voice interrupts his thoughts.

“Hey, kid,” Dean says, sitting up straighter.

“I’m hungry,” Jack declares.

Jack doesn’t always eat, so it’s not something he hears often.

“Think you can survive long enough for me to have a cup of coffee and a shower?”

Jack seems to actually contemplate it for a second but says, “Yes. Cas was making coffee when I came in.”

“That’d be for me.” Dean stands, stretches, and says, “Come on. You can entertain Cas until I’m awake enough for an actual conversation.”

“It’s nice of Cas to make you coffee,” Jack comments as they walk to the kitchen.

Considering everything that Jack said about the two of them yesterday, Dean treads lightly. “Best way to get me to wake up.”

“And he’s probably making up for not being very useful when he was a cat,” Jack says.

Cas looks over as they walk into the kitchen. “Not that it matters, but he was plenty useful as Catstiel.” Cas’s eyebrows draw together and Dean takes the coffee Cas hands him before he sits at the table. Cas and Jack sit across from him as he takes his first few sips, both looking at him to keep talking. “Space heater. Entertainment. Company. Nightmare ninja.”

“Nightmare ninja?” Jack asks.

“Dean often has nightmares because of the trauma he’s experienced in the past,” Cas explains for him. He doesn't like talking about the nightmares, so he feels his face grow a little warm and takes a drink of coffee to try to cover it up. "Understandably."

“But not when Cas was there,” Dean says.

“So he was fighting off the nightmares,” Jack says. “Nightmare ninja. I get it.” Dean nods before he takes another long gulp of very hot coffee. “But you still would have kept him even if he didn’t?”

Dean frowns in confusion. Shouldn’t the answer be obvious? “‘course I would’ve. It was Cas.”

“And you said being useful doesn’t matter,” Jack repeats. Dean nods around another mouthful of coffee.

“It _is_ still important to pull our weight while we’re in Sam and Dean’s home or when we’re out on hunts,” Cas tells Jack.

“Our home,” Dean corrects. “We all live here. And don’t listen to the stick in the mud,” he says to Jack, gesturing to Cas. “We all slack off every now and then and nobody’s getting thrown out on their ear for it, alright?”

“What use are we to you if we don’t help you?” Cas counters.

“Who said you’ve gotta be _useful?”_ Dean wonders, genuinely wanting to know. Cas looks at Jack, who is watching them raptly, then back at Dean, clearly not getting this. He dumbs it down to make as simple as possible. “You guys are family. You stay no matter what.”

“Hey guys,” Sam says, entering the kitchen and eyeing them all together. “Family meeting without me?”

Dean grins. “See?”

“See what?” Sam questions.

“Cas told me if we aren’t useful you won’t want us to stay here with you, but Dean seems to disagree. Because we’re family,” Jack answers with the same crease between his eyes that Cas gets.

“Dean’s right," Sam says. "As long as you two are happy you can stay as long as you want. Useful or not.”

“I missed that first part?” Dean says.

“I said you were right,” Sam repeats.

“Sorry, one more time?”

Catching on now, Sam answers, “You’re a jerk,” and Dean snickers at his joke.

“But in an oddly good mood for only having half a cup of coffee,” Cas says, sounding amused.

Dean looks down at his cup and sees he’s right.

“He must have slept well even without the nightmare ninja,” Jack says, smiling wide at his own attempt at a joke.

Dean’s face turns a little pink thinking that Cas is gonna out them, but thankfully, he doesn’t say anything.

“Who wants breakfast?” Sam asks suddenly.

“I’m just gonna jump in the shower and then we’re gonna head into town to eat,” Dean tells him.

“Get going then,” Sam urges him. Dean gives him a quick eye roll, downs the rest of his coffee, and goes to get ready for the day.

His good mood holds all through breakfast, and even when Sam convinces him to make a trip to the closest Target so Jack can get the next Harry Potter book in the series. It’s a half hour drive, so by the time they do that, pick up a few things they needed for around the bunker, and drive back, that’s killed a good portion of the day. Dean’s back in his room watching Netflix on his laptop when there’s a knock on his open door and Sam walks in.

“Caught a case,” he tells him. “About two and a half hours drive west of here, they’ve got two bodies in the last two months. Paper said the first one was a freak accident because it was a healthy guy in his thirties who fell down a flight of stairs and broke his neck. But now we got a second body, another male, who died the same way in the same building.”

Dean makes a face as he thinks that over. “So, what? A ghost who pushes people down the stairs?”

“Or a curse or something? I don’t know, but it sounds like something we should check out.”

“K, just let me pack a bag and I’ll meet you in the car,” Dean says, already closing his laptop and grabbing the charge cord to toss it in his bag.

“Actually, Jack said he didn’t want to go out again since he just got back after being away for so long, so I thought you and Cas could handle it.”

“Just a salt and burn, I don’t see why not,” Dean agrees. “Did you talk to Cas already? Sure he doesn’t want to stay here with Jack?”

“He said he’s starting to get a little stir crazy and offered to go with you,” Sam says.

Dean swallows, figuring _stir crazy_ means he’s gonna bail soon. “Alright. We’ll call you if we need backup. Shouldn’t take more than a day or so.”

“I’ll reload the trunk with salt rounds while you pack,” Sam offers, giving him a nod as he walks back out of his room.

Packing quickly is a skill he mastered ages ago, so it isn’t long at all before he walks out with his backpack thrown over his shoulder and his laptop under his arm. He finds Cas by the map table waiting for him.

“Ready to hit the road?” he asks.

“Yes,” Cas answers, holding up his cell phone so Dean can see it. “Sam gave me the address of the hotel closest to where the incidents took place.”

“Probably be close to dark by the time we get there,” Dean realizes.

“We can get dinner somewhere in town and see what we can learn from the locals before we start asking official questions tomorrow,” Cas says, and Dean nods his agreement. The bunker door opens with a loud clang and they both look up at Sam coming in.

“All loaded up,” Sam says cheerily.

“Let’s make like a banana and split,” Dean says to Cas, enjoying the bland look he gets for it. “I’ll check in when we figure out what’s going on.”

“Be careful,” Sam warns him, and then he and Cas are making their way up the stairs and to the garage.

Dean puts his bag in the trunk and then settles in behind the wheel, shooting Cas a sideways grin once he’s in the passenger seat. “Been a while since I had you as a talking shotgun.”

“Hopefully this time I won’t vomit on the floor,” Cas says, and Dean’s grin widens at the memory as he turns the ignition and Led Zeppelin fills the car.

Cas only talks to give him directions, and other than that, the two of them sit in an extremely comfortable silence. Dean’s more at peace than he’s been in for what feels like ages. He’s fine, Sam’s fine, Jack’s fine, his mom’s fine, and Cas is fine and sitting right next to him. Jack still needs time to fully replenish his grace after he took out Michael for them, but Cas is sure that he’ll be good as new in no time. They’ve got no big end of the world problems on their shoulders, and for now, they can just be regular hunters instead of the guys who save the world on an annual basis.

He doesn’t know how long it’ll last, but history tells him not very, so he intends to soak up every second of it while he can. That’s why he takes his time, barely pushes Baby ten over the speed limit, and just enjoys the open road. He pulls Baby into the parking lot of a crappy looking motel just as the sun is starting to set, feeling all kinds of content.

“That was a hell of a drive,” he says happily.

“It’s nice to be out,” Cas says back.

They get out of the car and go to check in. He gives a fake name and pays in cash for a double, then he grabs his bag from the car and he and Cas walk to their room together. It isn’t until he unlocks the door and steps in with Cas close behind him that he realizes it’s just him and Cas tonight. Obviously he knew they were hunting on their own, but he never really thought about being _alone_ with Cas in a motel room until now.

“Everything alright?” Cas asks.

“Yeah.” Dean nods as he works on loosening his shoulders, unaware that they’d tensed until Cas picked up on it. “Just need a human sec in the bathroom and then we can go grab some food.”

“Take your time,” Cas says kindly.

Dean uses the excuse to actually use the facilities, wash his face and hands, and calm his unexpected nerves. Just because they’re alone in a hotel room doesn’t mean anything’s going to happen. They’re friends, and they’re on a case, and he isn’t even sure if Cas is into him anyway. He can keep his hands to himself. He doesn’t need to make it weird. It can be easy just like hanging out on the couch was last night.

With that encouraging thought repeating in his head, he wipes his still damp hands dry on his jeans and steps out to face the beast head-on.

“Better?” Cas asks.

“Now I just need a burger and a beer.”

Thankfully they drove past a bar on the corner of the same street the motel is on, so they walk over in just a couple of minutes and into a moderately busy room that smells like stale beer and fried food. _Perfect._

Cas nods to a man sitting in a booth off to the side with a burger in a basket, drawing a smile from Dean. He claps his hand down on Cas's shoulder and says, “Looks like my good mood is gonna hold.” He steers Cas into a booth of their own and slides in across from him. He takes the few minutes until the waitress comes over to scope the place out. There’s a handful of people parked at the bar on beat up wooden stools, an old box TV mounted in a corner showing the highlight reel from today’s sports, a group of twenty-somethings playing pool and posing for pictures, and about half of the booths surrounding him and Cas are full of people eating.

Not bad for a Thursday night at eight, which leads him to believe the food here must not be complete crap. A leggy waitress comes over pretty much immediately, swaying her hips and batting her eyelashes at him.

He orders exactly what he was looking for, a beer and a burger, and when she turns to Cas, he says he’s already eaten but orders the same beer Dean’s having. She stops long enough to give Dean a glaringly obvious once over along with a wink before she walks away to get his order filled.

Cas leans forward, his elbows on the table, and glances over his shoulder quickly before he speaks. “The waitress was flirting with you.”

Dean leans on the table to mirror Cas, thinking it’ll be easier for Cas to hear him that way. “They usually do. Part of the gig, tryin’ to get tips or whatever.”

“You don’t think she wants to sleep with you?”

Dean chuckles lowly. “She probably does.”

Cas furrows his brows. “But you weren’t flirting back.”

“I don’t always," Dean shrugs. "Haven’t in a while.”

“Why not?”

_Because I’m tired of Sam looking at me like I disappointed him every time I do._

“Just not feeling it lately.” When Cas questions him with the rise of his eyebrows, he says, “You were dead, then we had a baby Nephilim to take care of, Mom to find, Nick on the loose, the Michael thing. Just one thing after another, you know? None of that was leaving a lot of time for me to get in the mood.”

“Everyone’s fine now,” Cas points out.

“And I’m here with you. Got all the company I need tonight,” Dean says, shooting him a teasing grin but meaning what he said all the same.

Cas smiles a tiny smile—a huge one for him—and says, “You’re not tired of my company yet?”

“Just got you back,” Dean reminds him.

“But even so, I was still me inside the cat. I haven’t left your side for longer than I had to in more than a week.”

Dean sits back in his seat a little, not willing to get sucked in any closer by the magnetic pull he always feels towards Cas in public. “And I’m still not complaining,” he responds quietly. “Sorry to cramp your style or whatever, but I’m sure it won’t be much longer before you’re off to save the world or another angel or something anyway. Might as well take it while I can get it.”

Cas looks down at where his one hand is curling and uncurling almost nervously on the table. “I think there may have been a slight miscommunication between us in the past,” Cas says, glancing up at him through his eyelashes.

Dean’s throat goes dry when he thinks of all of the things Cas could possibly say right now, but manages to croak, “What’s that?”

“Until earlier today, I was under the impression you didn’t like having me around unless I was helping with something.”

“What?” Dean asks, actually surprised to hear that. “Why would you think that?”

“You only contact me when you need my assistance.”

“Well yeah,” Dean sputters, “because I thought you were off doing important angel stuff. I wasn’t gonna call you back to the bunker just to watch a movie.”

“I would have come if you did.”

Dean blows out a quiet stream of air as that sinks in. “Then yeah, I guess we did have our wires crossed, ‘cause I always thought you couldn’t wait to get away from me. Us,” he corrects the second the _me_ leaves his mouth.

Cas’s eyes are unbearably soft, the blue still shining at him even in the shitty light of the bar. “I’m sorry I made you think that. It couldn’t be farther from the truth.”

His ears feel a little warm, a sure sign he’s blushing, but he forces the words out. “Well then, uh, me too, for making you think I only wanted you around to help us.” Cas gives a tiny nod, and Dean finds himself elaborating. “You gotta know, Cas... even if there were no more cases and no more monsters, I’d still want you around.” He wishes desperately for his beer when he remembers what a mess he was when Cas was in the Empty. “You don’t know ‘cause you weren’t there, but when you were in the Empty I was...” He looks around, breaking eye contact and trying to steal himself to admit just how bad he got.

“Upset?” Cas guesses.

“Yeah, _upset,”_ Dean says, chuckling sarcastically. “More like a wreck.”

“A wreck.” Cas’s tone of voice makes it sound like he doesn’t believe him.

“Like... couldn’t get outta bed and then when I made myself, I just spent the whole time wondering what the hell good I was when all I ever do is burn the people I care about the most in the end anyway.”

“I died to protect you,” Cas says quietly. “That was hardly your fault.”

“You don’t think I know that? That it made it any easier?” He didn’t mean to spit this at him the way he is, or for his voice to get so bitter. “Knowing you—you sacrificed yourself for me? When apparently all you thought you were to me was a tool?” Dean looks away, swallowing down the sudden lump in his throat, wondering why the fuck he can’t go out and have a burger like a normal person instead of dredging all of this up for no reason. Because no amount of talking about any of this is going to change anything and he knows that.

“It didn’t matter what I am to you. That never mattered. I wanted to keep you safe,” Cas says.

“I’m never gonna be safe,” Dean says quietly. “And no more of that sacrificing shit, okay?” When he looks back at Cas his eyes are fiery too, and his jaw is set stubbornly. Dean matches it with his own stubbornness. “I mean it. No more giving yourself up for me. You can’t— _I_ can’t—” He breathes out through his nose. “Don’t make me go through that again, man.”

“Dean,” Cas says softly, drawing his eyes up to meet the sincere blue. “I never wanted to cause you pain.”

“That ain’t the point,” Dean says, also softening.

“I’m sorry you suffered. Jack did mention some of it,” Cas says for the first time. Dean’s gaze sharpens. “Some of how you acted while I was in the Empty, why he tried to bring me back. I didn’t realize the depth of the hurt, though, likely because Jack didn’t realize it himself.”

Dean swallows hard. “Well, you’re back now.”

“And should I ever find myself in the position of self-sacrifice on your behalf again—”

“You’ll walk away,” Dean says firmly.

Cas’s pale pink lips curve at the corners into a hint of a smile. “At least this time I’ll know how to get out of the Empty.”

Dean snorts shallowly. “Not even gonna pretend you won’t do it?”

“No,” Cas says. “I like to think I learned a thing or two from my time as a cat.”

“What, the nine lives thing carry over?”

“That would be nice, but I doubt it,” Cas replies lightly. “I was thinking more along the lines of how as a cat, I was less able to hide my true intentions.”

Dean lets that mull around in his brain for a second. “Kinda hard to lie when you can’t talk.”

“Also hard not to purr when you pet me.”

“I’m not following,” Dean confesses.

Cas purses his lips for a moment before he responds, pulling Dean’s eyes down to them. “As a cat, when I wanted company, I found you. When I wanted to leave my scent on you, I did. When I wanted physical contact, I leapt on your lap. When I wanted you to rub my belly, I rolled over.”

“And you liked that ‘cause it worked?” Dean guesses, now connecting the dots.

“You heard how often I purred,” Cas replies. “I was a very happy cat.” Dean smiles, happy to hear he took good care of him when he had the chance. “I also had a lot of time to think, seeing as there wasn’t much else for me to do. It made me wonder how much different I would be in this form if I sought out what I wanted instead of hiding it all the time. Be entirely truthful. Like how I said I’d still sacrifice myself for you even though you asked me not to.”

“Okay...” Dean says cautiously, seeing where Cas is going with this now. “But too much honesty can be just as bad as lying.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well,” Dean says, trying to think of a good example. “If I told the waitress I’m not gonna sleep with her and to save the seduction for another table, she’d probably spit in our beer.”

“Or,” Cas counters, “she could appreciate you not wasting her time and put the effort in elsewhere.”

Dean taps the table in front of him as he thinks that over. Cas could be right. “Okay,” he says with a shrug. “Only one way to find out. Tell her when she comes back and we’ll see how she takes it.”

“You’re not worried about her spitting in our beer?”

“Won’t be the first time,” Dean laughs.

As if the waitress was waiting for them to come to this agreement, she saunters over with their two pints on a tray. She puts one down in front of Cas, saying, “Here you go.” Then, she turns towards Dean and says, “And this one’s for you, handsome.”

“He isn’t interested in sleeping with you,” Cas says, blunt as ever. Dean has to work at keeping a straight face because this is _classic_ Cas and it gets him every damn time.

She raises her eyebrows and puts a hand on her hip. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m not trying to be rude,” Cas explains. “But Dean said I’m all the company he needs tonight. He doesn’t want to sleep with you.”

She looks pissed at first when she looks between them, but then her lips form an _o_ and she raises her free hand in a gesture of surrender before she says, “My bad. I didn’t realize you two came together.”

“We did,” Cas reiterates.

Dean wants to correct her, knowing exactly what she’s thinking, but that’s when she leans in a little closer and gestures for them to do the same. Years of reading people tells him he needs to keep his mouth shut to hear what she’s about to say. “You boys ain’t from around here, right?” They both shake their heads in response. “No judgement from me—love is love and all that—but you should keep your eyes peeled.”

Cas is squinting, so Dean says, “What for?”

“Don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s been two deaths here in the last two months and rumor has it both men were gay.”

“Dean’s not gay,” Cas says, looking at him. He’s torn away from thinking about how odd that statement is (why didn’t Cas say _we’re_ not gay?) when the waitress lets out a quiet giggle.

“I don’t know if all shades of the rainbow count, but I just thought I’d mention it.”

“Thanks,” Dean says, sincerely. “We’ll be extra careful.”

She takes a step back to put herself at a more respectable distance and says, “Won’t be long for your burger.”

Dean watches as she walks away and then turns back to Cas with a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Way to go, Cas. That truth shit got us a lead.”

“And I didn’t see her spit in your beer.”

Dean snorts out a bit of a laugh, lifting his glass to tap it against Cas’s. “To telling the awkward truth.”

Cas clinks their glasses together gently and they each take a drink. The beer goes down real good, and he makes a soft sound of satisfaction.

“Considering our toast, I should mention I think the waitress believes we’re here as a homosexual couple,” Cas says sheepishly.

Dean only chuckles. “Yeah, I got that. Not the end of the world.”

Cas smiles down into his beer and Dean realizes he feels... good. They got a lead, they’re not fighting, they’ve cleared some of the air between them, it’s not awkward, he’s got a good beer, and a burger is on the way. Life is good.

After his burger comes, he starts in on it while he harasses Cas to nibble on a couple of fries, which he does. Once he’s finished, a second beer comes for them both, and they fill the easy silence with commenting on the people and the music. When the pool table opens up, Dean’s feeling loose enough from the two pints of beer to challenge Cas to a game. Cas says no twice, but the third time Dean gives him a pleading look and he agrees with a roll of his eyes.

Dean’s been hustling pool for years, so he’s gotten pretty damn good at it and he definitely wasn’t expecting Cas to be on his level. In fact, Cas sinks a shot so outrageous halfway through the game (and their third pints) that he exclaims, “No grace! You’re cheating, aren’t you?”

And he has the pleasure of actually seeing Cas laugh when he shakes his head and insists he’s not. “It’s all math.”

Dean’s chest did this weird flipping thing when he heard Cas laugh, and now that his friend has a lingering smile on his face that’s making him look a hell of a lot cuter than an angel in an old, rumpled trench coat should, Dean can’t wipe his own smile off of his face either. He feels lighter than he has in for freaking ever, and by the time they’re down to just the eight ball, they’re both grinning and laughing like idiots—even Cas!—enough that neither of them can sink it.

Finally, Dean’s the one who makes the shot, and he celebrates with a loud, enthusiastic _whoop!_ Instead of irritation or even a fleeting look of disappointment on Cas’s face, though, he just keeps smiling, all soft and indulgent, and Dean’s jaw drops as the reason comes to him.

“You let me win!”

Cas shakes his head. “No, I didn’t.”

“You did, too! You coulda beat me but you felt bad for the lowly human and let me win!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cas says, but his eyes are dancing and Dean _knows._

“So much for the whole ‘entirely truthful’ thing, huh? What’d that last? Two hours?”

“I thought you said too much truth was a bad thing,” Cas tosses back, and Dean throws his head back and laughs, his hand resting on Cas’s shoulder to keep him steady.

“You sneaky son of a bitch,” he finally says, breathless from laughing so hard.

Cas just keeps gazing at him, his eyes so fucking blue and looking so damn pleased with himself that warmth surges through Dean’s chest. He takes a step closer at the same time Cas does. Now there’s only inches between them and he still can’t look away. Cas tilts his chin up the tiniest little bit and Dean’s eyes fall to his lips; his pink, plump lips, and that full bottom one he’s spent years watching and trying not to think about. He could lean in right now, just lower his head the tiniest bit, erase those last few inches between them and finally know exactly how it feels slotted between his, how it tastes when he sucks it into his mouth, how it would swell after he nips at it for the hours he intends to worship it to get his fill.

He licks his lips, his heart thudding in his ears and his dick getting heavy between his legs from the chemistry between them, the anticipation, and the filthy fucking fantasies he has playing in the back of his mind of _exactly_ how this moment could play out, and he’s made up his mind. His fingers curl around Cas’s wrist and he applies just the tiniest bit of pressure to pull Cas towards him. He knows from experience that Cas is a solid wall of rock if he doesn’t want to move, but he sways in easily, like he’s eager to move in as close as Dean will let him.

This is it. He’s gonna do it. He’s gonna kiss Cas. They’ve got a goddamn room waiting for them and this, right here, with Cas looking at him all doe-eyed and waiting for him is the perfect moment to just—

“Excuse me?” He jolts as the voice jerks him out of his own head. He takes a step back instinctively and glances at the young guy standing there. “Are you done with the pool table?” he asks.

Dean nods and hands over the cue without managing to get an actual word out, then walks back over to the small table holding their beer glasses and downs what’s left in his fourth pint of the night. Cas still has half a glass, and he follows Dean’s lead by finishing it all at once, then Dean tucks a few bills under his glass and leads the way out of the bar.

It’s fully dark outside now, and the cool air feels good on his heated cheeks.

Cas slips his hands into his pockets as he catches up with him and they start their walk back to the motel. The quiet feels different now. It’s not the same easy, comfortable silence they’d been sitting in all day. This is strained, charged, and sits heavy in his stomach despite the pleasant buzz he has going on.

Does Cas know he was gonna kiss him? Is he disappointed he didn’t, or glad he didn’t do something stupid and fuck up everything between them? Because now that he’s thinking more clearly and not stuck in the trap of Cas’s eyes, he can acknowledge that it probably isn’t the best idea. Not when they’re on a case. Not when Cas literally just got his body back. So now he just needs shit to go back to normal.

It’s probably at least partly the beer that drives him to ask, “You good?”

“Yes,” Cas answers. “I enjoyed that.”

“Beating me at pool?” Dean teases.

“Spending time with you.” The sincerity in his voice is staggering. “Seeing you having fun, laughing, smiling.”

He feels like he’s got a sunburn for all the time he’s spent blushing these past few days. “You’re one to talk. You were pretty smiley tonight, too, y’know.”

“I had fun,” Cas says simply.

 _“You_ had fun?” Dean asks, teasing again. “Mr. Serious all the time had fun at a dive bar?”

“It wasn’t chasing a laser pointer level of fun,” Cas deadpans, and Dean can’t help the way his snicker turns into a full laugh when he thinks about Cas the cat chasing that damn thing half way up the bunker walls. “But it was a suitable alternative.”

“I’ve still got the laser pointer if you want a really good time,” Dean jokes.

Cas looks over at him with a fond look in his eyes before he ducks his head. It’s incredibly endearing and the only thought he has is that he wants to be closer to him before he slings his arm around Cas’s shoulders. Thankfully, he’s got his wits about him enough to give Cas’s arm a little squeeze, and then it somehow feels normal and friendly instead of some big romantic gesture, and just like that, he’s got Cas tucked up against him for the remainder of their walk.

They break apart for Dean to unlock the hotel room door, and he lets out a deep sigh as he walks into the room. He tosses his keys and wallet onto the dresser, types out a quick text to Sam letting him know they’re in for the night and that they got a lead that the guys who died were gay, then puts it on silent and plugs it in to charge for the night.

He turns the TV on for some background noise, grabs his little bag of toiletries and makes his way into the bathroom. After brushing his teeth and getting rid of most of the beer he drank, he leaves the bathroom in just his boxers and his undershirt. He feels Cas’s eyes on him from his bed even though he deliberately doesn’t look at him, and jokes, “Shoulda brought the dead guy robe.”

“I didn’t mean to stare,” Cas says.

Dean waves him away even though his insides feel like jelly. He crawls in under the covers of his own bed and fluffs up a couple of pillows, then flicks through the channels until he lands on the original _Halloween_ movie.

Cas watches for a few minutes before he looks over at him. “This is conducive to a good night’s sleep?”

“What, like it’s any worse than a regular day for me?”

“I’d prefer something less violent if it’s all the same to you,” Cas says, so Dean tosses him the remote control. Cas catches it, but barely, and in typical Cas fashion, he frowns down at it for a few seconds before he starts mechanically clicking through the channels. Dean rolls over onto his side, facing Cas, and just watches him watch what ends up being some kind of nature documentary.

The different colors reflect on Cas’s profile, and he’s transfixed as they flicker over his tan skin. His eyes start to get heavy, and like Cas knows, that’s when he turns towards him for the first time.

“If you wake up at all tonight—” Cas starts.

“You’ll be the second one to know,” Dean says tiredly.

“I’d like to help,” Cas finishes. “If that’s alright with you.”

“Help how?” Dean asks. “Angel mojo?”

“I was thinking more like...” He pauses for so long Dean wonders if he’s actually going to keep going or not. Finally, he says, “Comforting you. Like I did when I was a cat.”

Dean blinks at him, waiting to find his voice to ask, “So like, pat my back or something?”

“Whatever you need.” When Dean doesn’t say anything immediately, Cas says, “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but my presence seemed to help last night.”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe I can be a nightmare ninja even in this form,” Cas says, an obvious attempt at lightening the mood.

Dean forces out a laugh he doesn’t feel. “Yeah. Wouldn’t put it past you.” Because he knows if he doesn't answer Cas, Cas will ask again, he says, “We’ll see how the whole nightmare thing shakes out, okay?”

Cas nods once. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“Night, Cas.”


	6. Chapter 6

Dean’s got the first blade. He can feel the blood lust pumping through his veins. He knows he needs to kill, to feel the blade rip through the flesh of somebody—anybody. His fingers curl tightly around the hilt, and he looks. He hunts. His heartbeat is fast but steady, his focus entirely on finding somebody to tear to shreds.

“Dean,” he hears.

It’s Cas. Cas’s low voice, calling him back to himself. The blade tells him to ignore it, to go back to the hunt, but he hears it again.

“Dean, wake up.”

The area surrounding him begins to disappear, the spell broken, and he opens his eyes to see Cas crouching next to his bed in the dingy motel with worry clouding in his eyes. “You’re okay,” Cas tells him, which is when he realizes how hard he’s breathing. Panting. His lungs burning. “It was just a dream.”

“Fuck,” Dean complains, rolling onto his back and pushing a hand through his hair. Cas stands up and for a horrifying split second he thinks he’s going to walk away. “Don’t,” he croaks. Cas looks down at him and tilts his head in silent question.

Then, seeming to understand, he says, “I’m not going anywhere.” It sounds like a promise, and though he believes him, he still watches Cas closely while he walks around the bed he’s in and sits on the other side without even asking.

Cas sits on top of the sheets, his back to the headboard. Something loosens in Dean’s chest just from his proximity and the warmth coming off of him.

Dean swallows. “Did you sleep?”

“I’m fine,” Cas says, which is basically a no. “I’ll sit here and watch over you. Wake you up before it gets too bad.”

“Did already,” Dean confesses, rolling over onto his other side so he can see Cas better.

“Good,” Cas says softly. “You can go back to sleep now. You’ll be okay.”

He probably will be, except now he’s all sleepy... and he knows Cas makes it better... and he just wants to _sleep._

“I think...” He darts his eyes up to Cas’s to gauge his reaction. “I think I probably need direct contact for it to work,” he lies.

Cas seems to contemplate that for a second, but then responds, “Like your head on my shoulder."

Dean only nods, suddenly terrified that Cas is going to say no, that he’s asking for too much. But without any hesitation, Cas shimmies down until his head is on the pillow next to Dean’s, staying on top of the blankets, and lifts his one arm like he’s inviting Dean into his space.

He feels like his face is on fire, but he moves in, his upper body scooting close enough that he can put his head on Cas’s shoulder, but his lower body as far away as he can get it. He doesn’t want to push too much.

Cas wraps his arm around him though, letting his big hand rest comfortably on his shoulder, and he can feel Cas’s thumb start to move back and forth. He’s sure it’s been several minutes by the time his face is starting to cool down, his heart rate finally slowing from it’s jack rabbit pace in his chest enough for his eyes to close.

“Is this okay?” Cas asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Dean responds, the same question echoing in his mind about Cas. Instead of asking it, he says, “You don’t hafta do this if it’s weird for you.”

Cas says, “It’s not weird for me.” Dean nods as much as he can with his head on Cas’s shoulder, and sometime later, Cas whispers, so soft Dean wonders if he was meant to hear him, “If I was still a cat I believe I’d be purring quite loudly right now.”

Dean can’t help his breathy laughter or the way his heart skips a beat. Cas is into this too. He just told him in his dorky angel way.

“G’night, Cas.”

“Sleep well, Dean.”

And he does.

When his eyelids flutter open again, it’s only because the sun is streaming through the poor excuse for blinds and directly onto his face. Dean grunts out a sound of displeasure, and the sun is gone, immediately. Puzzled but pleased, he scoots forwards and pulls the cat in closer, burying his nose in the soft fur on the top of his head like he always does. Because Cas doesn’t purr, he pries one eye open to check on the little furball, which is when he realizes he’s got the human version of Cas—or his head at least—pulled against his chest like a cat.

“Jesus,” Dean curses, releasing him at once and rolling onto his back.

“What’s wrong?” Cas asks, his voice lower than usual and rough with sleep.

Dean skirts his eyes over to see Cas’s hair absolutely _fucked_ and his eyebrows pinched together, but more adorably, a sleep line etched into his face. It’s impossible to build the usual walls up fast enough, not when Cas is in his bed looking like he just woke up, all warm and inviting. In place of the walls is something he has a lot less experience with: joy.

His hand darts out before he can stop it, tousling Cas’s hair even more and letting out a husky chuckle at Cas's annoyed glare. Cas knocks his hand away, but when Dean puts it back onto the mattress, Cas’s hand keeps contact for a few seconds, buoying his mood even more.

“Somebody missed their morning grooming,” Dean teases.

“And somebody was convinced my head was a cat most of the night,” Cas answers dryly.

“In my defense, your hair kinda feels the same as your fur did, and I ain’t exactly used to waking up with anything else curled up on my chest.”

“You were remarkably insistent in your sleep,” Cas tells him.

Dean rolls back onto his side to face him, feeling weirdly normal about waking up with Cas in his bed. “Says the dude who literally forced himself into my bed _and_ my arms as a cat.”

“You smelled incredible when I was a cat. It was a constant battle to stop from rubbing myself all over you.” Dean’s eyes go a little wide at the confession. “Not so hard now with the morning breath.”

“Fuck you too,” Dean laughs, making Cas’s eyes twinkle with his own silent laughter.

Cas sighs, then sits up and runs his hands through his hair, making Dean’s lips stay positioned in a smile when he doesn’t manage to smooth it out at all. “If you slept half as well as I did, you won’t even need coffee this morning.”

“Slept like a rock,” Dean confirms, “but there’s no way I’m not having coffee.”

Cas smiles down at him, his eyes soft. “I’ll go acquire the coffee while you shower and get ready for the day.”

“You’re the best,” Dean says, forcing the words out while he indulges in a morning stretch. When his eyes open again, Cas is watching him, the look in his eyes much less soft and a hell of a lot darker than it was a second ago. Coupled with the rumpled look Cas has going on, it’s like he’s pulled right from the depths of Dean’s deepest, _wildest,_ most secretive domestic dreams, and he wouldn’t be surprised in the least if his tongue rolled out of his mouth like one of Crowley’s contracts. There’s a heated silence between them, something he’s been noticing between them more and more frequently since Cas came back, and he’s suddenly very aware of the fact that he’s only in boxers.

He gives his head a slight shake and says, “You’re gonna wanna do something with the bedhead before you go out in public.”

Between one blink and the next, Cas is standing in the same spot perfectly put back together, and somehow no less enticing for it. Cas opens his hands on either side of him, a clear, “Well?” broadcasted without words.

“Show off,” Dean responds, and Cas’s face cracks on a smile.

Again.

It’s just as staggering first thing this morning as his laugh was last night, and he realizes he’s going to have to come up with some kind of defense to it before he ends up making an ass out of himself by spewing some bullshit sappy poetry about an angel with a smile brighter than the sun.

“I won’t be long,” Cas says, and then he unlocks the door and walks out into the sunny day.

Deciding to put everything that’s happened since yesterday out of his mind and buried where it belongs, he showers, brushes his teeth, and gets dressed. His hair is still damp when he grabs his phone off the nightstand to call Sam, which is when Cas shows up with a large coffee and a brown paper bag that smells like—

“Breakfast sandwiches,” Cas declares as he brings them over to him.

“You _rock,”_ Dean says excitedly. He puts the phone on speaker and dives in. He’s got a huge bite in his mouth when Sam picks up.

“Hey,” Sam greets him.

“What’s up, bitch?” Dean asks, his food bulging beneath his cheek.

“Just solving your case long-distance,” Sam says breezily.

Dean swallows down the wad of food in his mouth. “Really?”

“Yeah, really,” Sam says with a quiet laugh. “As soon as you texted me that both victims were gay, I did a search for LGBTQ+ and the city name, and I got a bunch of hits on a message board from the latest victim’s boyfriend looking for support before he died. And according to the _pages_ of gossip I read through, both victims had the same ex... who was killed in a car accident three months ago.”

Dean frowns as he chews. “So, what? The dude went vengeful and is now killing his exes?”

“That’s what it sounds like to me.”

Dean exchanges a contemplative look with Cas while he thinks about the possible motives behind that.

“How many partners did this person have?” Cas asks Sam, holding eye contact with Dean.

“That’s the part you’re going to have to ask around to find out about.” Dean makes an unimpressed expression at the phone, and Sam continues, _“But_ I found you an in.”

Dean rolls his eyes at the dramatic silence streaming from the other end of the phone. “Just keep us hangin’ here, Sam, we live for the suspense. Can’t get enough of it.”

Sam chuckles across the connection. “The gay community is arranging a candlelight vigil tonight to show support for one another. I don’t know if the FBI gig is going to work in a place like that, but maybe you can just show up and see who will talk to you.”

“That should be fine considering the waitress already thinks we’re a gay couple,” Cas says to Dean.

Dean hears Sam’s snort of laughter on the phone before Sam says, “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Dean quickly tells himself this is only a big deal if he _makes it_ a big deal, so he takes care to sound totally calm when he explains. “Apparently two dudes at a bar together combined with Cas telling the waitress I wasn’t interested in her equals a couple of gay guys around here.”

“Man, I am _so_ sorry I have to miss this,” Sam says, laughter still clear in his voice, “but I think Cas might be on to something. Maybe if you act like you’re a gay couple there to support everybody, the locals might be more willing to talk to you.”

Dean sighs heavily for show, refusing to look Cas in the eyes as _act like a gay couple_ replays in his head. “And what do we do until then? Can’t hit the morgue and can’t visit the local PD if we’re not doing the FBI thing.”

“I’m sure you can find something to fill the time with being newly gay couple and everything,” Sam says, and then the call ends because the fucker hung up on him.

He’s still scowling at Sam getting the last word when Cas says, “What would a new couple do to fill the time?” Dean barely has time to aim his scowl at Cas instead before Cas rolls his eyes and says, “It was a joke, Dean. I’m billions of years old and all too aware of what things two people—gay or not—could do together to pass some time.”

He relaxes minutely while he works on unwrapping his second sandwich. “Since when do you make jokes?” he asks

“Since three minutes on the phone with Sam put that look on your face,” Cas tells him.

Dean takes a bite out of his sandwich and chews just enough to be able to say, “Sam’s a dick.”

“He’s your brother and you’d be lost without him.” Cas takes a seat on the bed across from him, but Dean doesn’t pay him much attention since he’s still working on his breakfast. His mind’s spinning with what they’re going to do today at the same time he’s trying not to think about what _acting like a gay couple_ is going to look like for them. It’s not that he’s against being physically close with Cas—last night at the bar and asking him to fucking snuggle in bed last night is proof enough of that. But he doesn’t really want to fake it, and it’s not like he’s about to ask Cas to be his boyfriend for real.

He’ll have to come up with some kind of compromise between now and then.

He flips on the TV for background noise while he finishes his breakfast and loiters over his coffee, mostly stuck in his own thoughts. Once his cup is empty, he tosses it across the room and into the trash can and decides on his plan of action.

“Well, if we’re sticking around for the day and not doing the FBI thing, you need some clothes.”

He looks over at Cas for his reaction just in time to see him slip something in his pocket. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“Nothin’,” Dean replies. “Honestly, the holy accountant look’s kinda grown on me.” Cas’s eyes light up like he just told him he’s the fairest of them all, and Dean’s pulled to his bedside like a magnet. Cas swings his feet over the side as he draws nearer, and his eagerness to be close to him softens Dean’s voice when he continues. “But no fake boyfriend of mine is wearing the same clothes two days in a row out in public.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Cas says easily.

So, a little while later finds them both standing in the men’s clothing section of the closest department store. Cas said he’d be fine with secondhand clothes like Dean and Sam usually buy, but he also remembers Cas saying how nobody’s ever bought him anything before and he decides Cas should have his own stuff, reasoning that it’s possible he might need them again someday.

But now, here they stand, two middle aged men in front of what looks like a sea of skinny jeans and polyester slacks made for the elderly, feeling awkward and unsure about where they fit.

“They look very constricting,” Cas says, holding up a pair of skinny jeans in front of him.

“Some of ‘em got stretch though,” Dean explains. “They got more give than you’d think.”

“How do I know which size?”

Dean grabs a pair two sizes bigger than his own, knowing he has slim hips, and pushes them into Cas’s chest. “Try these and we’ll see where to go from there.”

“What about shirts?”

Dean shrugs a shoulder, completely out of his element. “I dunno, man, what do you like?”

After a beat of silence Cas confesses, “I have no idea.”

Dean’s lips pull tight as his hand finds the back of his neck. “Alright,” he says, trying to stay patient. “What, uh, do you like on other people?”

“I like you in Henley’s and anything that isn’t covered up by a layer of flannel,” Cas says quickly.

Dean can’t hold in his light chuckle or the way he turns on the charm. “You checkin’ me out, Cas?”

“Only without the flannel.”

His heart skips a beat and his stomach swoops, but he’s able to ask playfully, “What do you have against my lumberjack look anyway?”

“I can’t see as much of you in it,” Cas answers.

If he could will away his blush, he would, but instead, he turns away to look for something he would wear, muttering under his breath. “Jeez, you share a bed with a guy one time and he starts flirtin’ with you in the middle of a damn Sears.”

“Technically we’ve been sleeping together for weeks.”

Dean has to bite back his immediate instinct to tell Cas to pipe down, realizing if they’re fake dating here then it doesn’t really matter. Instead, he holds up a black long-sleeved t-shirt with a few buttons and a cream colored ring around the neck giving it the illusion of layered shirts. “What about this?”

Cas scrutinizes it for a second but nods. “That looks fine.” He points to a soft blue shirt in the same style. “Do you have an aversion to this?”

“Nope, but even if I did, it’s your shirt, Cas.”

Cas’s hand touches his elbow, bringing Dean’s gaze back to his. “I want you to like how it looks, too.”

He feels a little warm under the collar (again) and swallows down his nerves. “Let’s grab a few more things and we’ll see what works.”

Together, they choose a navy and white striped polo, a long-sleeve red shirt with a broad stripe of black across the chest, a forest green button down, and a grey t-shirt with a black feather printed on the chest Cas was definitely eyeing. Armed with all of that, he shoves Cas into a change room and waits.

A distressed sounding call of his name has him hurrying in closer. “What’s up?”

“I can’t pull the jeans up past my knees.”

Dean snorts with laughter. “K, gimme a sec.”

He switches what they had for a pair of “relaxed fit” jeans instead and still grabs the next two sizes up. He holds them over top the door. “Try these instead.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

He decides to stay put while he waits, grinning to himself when he hears Cas muttering under his breath about how stiff the denim feels. Finally, he hears, “Well, I was able to pull these up over my ass in any case.”

He’s snickering at Cas saying _ass_ when he hears the jiggle of the lock. Cas stands there in the relaxed fit dark blue jeans that still manage to hug his thighs and the first light blue shirt he picked out. His hair’s a little messed up from pulling his shirt over his head, his eyes lit up by the blue of his shirt, and with his pink lips pulled nervously to one side, Dean’s feels warmth bloom inside of him like he just drank something hot on a cold day.

“Well?” Cas asks.

“I, uh,” Dean stammers, not ready to be put on the spot like this. “I guess you could say I like how it looks.” Cas smiles, a small, shy thing that only makes him look more attractive and somehow manages to bolster Dean's confidence. “As much as I like the trench coat, it sure as fuck wasn’t doing you any favors, man.”

“It feels odd,” Cas says quietly.

“In your own clothes?”

Cas nods, then turns around to look at himself in the mirror, unintentionally giving Dean a chance to scope out his ass—which he realizes way too late was a terrible idea because _son of a bitch_ does Cas have a killer ass. Looks tight and muscular and shaped like sin by the well-fitting denim. He forces his eyes away even though he knows that’s gonna be something burned in his brain for a while.

“I do like it though,” Cas seems to decide, completely unaware of providing future spank bank material.

“Awesome. Wanna try on the other shirts?”

“Yes.”

They end up with the blue shirt, the feather shirt, and the button down, but in black, and two pairs of jeans (dark and light wash). They also get him boots a lot like the ones Dean wears on hunts, and even though he knows Sam’s gonna hit the roof when he sees the credit card bill, he doesn’t even blink when he swipes it.

Cas thanks him wordlessly with a hand on his lower back while he pays, and because he’s intentionally not looking at Cas while he has his too-warm and distacting hands all over him, he notices the second the cashier sees Cas touch him.

“Did you guys see the flyer for the candlelight vigil tonight?” she asks them.

Dean hadn’t, so he takes it when she offers one. He glances at it quickly and decides to try to make conversation. “Yeah, we plan to make an appearance.”

“To support the gay community,” Cas says, stepping even closer to Dean’s side.

“We’ll take all we can get,” she says with a sad smile. “Maybe I’ll see you guys there.”

The rest of the day is filled up with more TV and going out for both lunch and dinner. Cas changes into the first outfit he tried on once they get back into the hotel, which means it’s an exercise in restraint for Dean because Cas looks both oddly naked but hot as fuck without the trench coat. As the afternoon heats up, Cas pushes his shirt sleeves up to his elbows and Dean’s even _more_ distracted by his muscular forearms. He tells himself it’s because Cas is usually so covered head-to-toe that even the slightest peek at his tanned skin is risqué, but that doesn’t help either.

Another thing that’s definitely not helping is how Cas hasn’t stopped touching him all day. He’s not being handsy or anything like that, it’s more of the same kinda thing that’s been happening since yesterday: a hand on the small of his back, trailing fingers across his shoulder blades, touching his arm to get his attention, Cas’s palm resting on his shoulder. Cas probably keeps doing it because of how Dean keeps leaning into every touch, but he didn’t realize until Cas started doing it just how touch starved he is. How grounding physical contact with Cas is. How much a part of him feels like throwing up for thinking just how badly he doesn’t want it to stop.

Because as much as he’s enjoying it (and he’s enjoying the hell out of it) he knows he can’t keep something this good, this easy. Whether one of them dies again, Cas has to go to heaven, Jack takes off again and Cas goes to find him... something will come along and separate them. That’s the only reason he hasn’t taken the next logical step and made a move. He’s been tempted. Hell, he’s trying to shake the thought almost constantly, and right now, with the two of them lying in his bed propped up against the headboard, shoulders, hips, and knees pressed together all down one side, he feels warm, comfortable, and _light._ Even though there’s a questionable stain on the corner of the comforter he’s been failing to ignore all day, a really big part of him never wants to get out of this bed and another part of him wants to straddle Cas’s hips and crush their mouths together to give him a reason to stay.

So, of course, that means it’s time to go.

With the sun down, it’s noticeably cooler, but Baby keeps them warm on the short drive across town, and a flannel and a jacket takes care of most of the bite in the air. To blend in, Cas ends up back in his trench coat, which Dean snickers at and earns himself a pointed look in return.

“Weird part is it still works even with the jeans,” Dean says as they get out of the Impala.

“Good enough for your pretend boyfriend?” Cas teases, pressing their shoulders together when he leans in close enough to make sure he isn’t overheard.

“Guess you’ll do.” Dean makes sure his tone is lighthearted enough that Cas knows he’s not being a dick. He takes in the small crowd, maybe a hundred people or so, all scattered on the lawn of some park facing a lectern with a microphone right in front of a massive pride flag backdrop. There are giant, blown up photos of the two victims on either side of the lectern, each with a tall, thin candle holder in front of them with a single candle. “But listen,” he says to Cas, more seriously now. “Let’s not get too outta control here, okay? We can be coupley without being too heavy on the PDA.”

“PDA?” Cas repeats, his head tilted to the side as he considers.

“Public display of affection,” Dean explains. “Holding hands, getting close, that’s fine, but I don’t wanna—”

“I understand,” Cas says solemnly.

“No, uh.” He loses his nerve for a second, has to take a deep breath to find it again. “I don’t think you do.”

“You’re attracted to women. It’s not difficult to understand.”

“I don’t wanna make this a whole big thing, but it, uh, ain’t just women,” Dean admits quietly. He can feel Cas’s eyes land on him and he feels over warm as usual. “Mostly, yeah, but occasionally...” He lets that drift off and finishes it with a shrug.

The quiet chatter of other people is the only thing that fills the silence between them for some time. Wordlessly, they get in the back of a line up to get candles, and Cas finally says, “I’m sorry for assuming.”

“Not your fault. I don’t exactly broadcast it.”

“Why is that?” Cas wonders.

Dean shrugs again, stuffs his hands in his jacket pockets. “Before Jesse and Ceaser, I ain’t never seen hunters be out and proud before.”

“There must be other hunters who are attracted to the same sex. Statistically speaking—”

“I didn’t say there weren’t other guys who swung both ways or batted for the other team. I know for a fact there are,” Dean says, smirking over at him to make his meaning clear. “I’m just saying it was all hush hush.”

Cas nods slowly, obviously picking up on what he’s not saying. “In any case, I appreciate you telling me. I know humans have their prejudices about this kind of thing, but I assure you it makes no difference where I’m concerned.”

“Not gonna smite me and tell me I deserve to burn for my sins?” Dean asks, only half-serious.

Cas huffs bitterly. “That’s all a lie. God is utterly indifferent to sexual orientation.”

“Good to know,” Dean replies.

“There are rumors that He Himself has had boyfriends in the past,” Cas whispers conspiratorially.

Dean brightens at that. “Seriously?”

“That’s what I’ve heard.”

“Wish I could shove that up the ass of a few dozen people in my past,” Dean says under his breath, snippets of slurs and flashes of judgmental looks all coming back to him all at once. Cas’s hand lands on his shoulder, and with the weight of it, he exhales unconsciously, subtly shifting even closer to Cas where they stand a few people back from the front of the line.

“I like you the way you are,” Cas says quietly.

It warms that space inside of him—the space that’s been empty for years now—and it’s so unfamiliar (but not entirely unwelcome) that he makes a joke to deflect. “Now you’re just tryin’ to get into my pants.”

“Wasn’t that already obvious?” Cas replies dryly, getting a bark of laughter from Dean. When he takes a chance and glances over at him, Cas looks totally serious though, and it stops his heart for a solid second before Cas’s face cracks on a smile.

“You’re a dick,” Dean says, shoving him a step away.

Cas chuckles quietly—music to his fucking ears—and steps right back into his space like he belongs there, this time, winding his arm around his waist and causing that _fluttering_ feeling inside of him again. “Which means you occasionally like me.”

Dean snorts despite himself, proud and amused by Cas making that joke. “Sounds about right.” Cas knocks his shoulder into him, and Dean knocks back, losing the battle of keeping the smile off of his face when he sees Cas doing the same. “Why’re you so smiley all the time now anyway? What happened to Mr. Stick-Up-His-Ass?”

“He watched his best friend smile more with a cat than he did with people and decided to make a few minor changes.”

He’s slightly embarrassed about being called out on that, especially considering how close it is to what Jack said. “You were fuzzy,” he grumbles.

Cas leans and nuzzles just behind his ear, his cold nose and his breath of laughter on the back of his neck causing goosebumps to pop up down his spine and along his arms. He laughs softly and shrugs Cas away, aware that to anybody watching they look like they’re flirting playfully even though he’s really trying to escape the tornado of feelings Cas’s nose on his neck is making him feel.

“Does it make you happy when I smile?” Cas asks suddenly.

Dean’s taken completely off guard. “What?” Cas merely lifts his eyebrows, knowing that he heard him. “Hell, I dunno,” he lies.

“Must just be coincidence, then, that you smile after I do.”

Dean exhales slowly, trying to come up with a response to that. “This whole honesty schtick of yours is gonna send me to an early grave.”

“Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No,” Dean answers. “Just don’t know what to say half the damn time.”

Cas’s hand comes up to rest on his lower back. “You don’t have to say anything.”

So he takes the out and remains quiet. Thankfully there are only two other people in front of them, another couple by the looks of things, and then they’re up next.

They’re greeted by a young woman with long, dark hair, and an older woman who looks like she might be related in some way.

“Thanks for coming,” the younger woman says, crouching down to select two candles from a box.

“Were you friends of Curtis or Christopher?” the older woman asks.

“No, just passing through town and we thought we’d pop in to lend our support,” Dean says.

“We’re sorry for your loss,” Cas adds solemnly, squeezing Dean’s shoulder lightly.

The older woman smiles sadly, looking between them. “You two take good care of each other. Life is too short not to enjoy the ones you love.”

Dean’s voice is rough with unexpected emotion when he thanks her, and this time he doesn’t try to escape when Cas wraps his arm around his shoulder and draws him in real close while they walk away. Cas leads him to a space close to but not directly at the front of the gathering crowd, and he lets himself just take comfort from Cas when he so willingly gives it.

His mouth goes dry when Cas’s forehead leans on his temple, his voice a quiet, gritty whisper into his ear. “Are you alright?”

He nods minutely, not wanting to do anything to make Cas think he should move away because this feels really good even though everything else is really freaking shitty all of the sudden. It hit him like a pile of bricks because that lady’s right, and no matter how much he tries not to think about it, it’s always right there in the forefront of his mind.

Life is way too fucking short, and nobody knows that better than him and Cas, Sam and Jack. He’s aware of it every time any of them leave on a hunt, when they’re apart, even when they take on something all together. One of these days not all four of them are gonna walk away from a hunt alive and he’s gonna have to try to live with that. He could legitimately die tomorrow—hell, he could die tonight. Anybody could, yeah, but his chances are about a billion times worse than most people and _he knows that_ and _still_ won’t let himself have the one thing that might make him happy because then it’s gonna be harder to let go.

Whether it’s him or Cas, losing one another is almost all they can handle now, and like Cas said the other night, they always seem to be losing each other. If he takes that last step, lets himself have Cas the way he’s pretended he doesn’t want him for the last five years and then Cas dies, how does he move on from that? It was bad enough the last time—as bad as he can imagine it getting—knowing that Cas died without knowing what he meant to him. But to know, to say it, to live it, to really _experience_ a love like he fucking _knows_ he could have with Cas and then lose it? That’s gotta be worse. There’s no coming back from that.

He saw his dad.

He saw Bobby.

Even Sam with Jess and then Eileen, and they’d barely gotten started. He'd never make it.

“Dean? What’s wrong?” Cas asks.

“Nothin’,” he lies, trying to surreptitiously keep the snot from dripping outta his nose without sniffling to give away how upset he is.

Cas tightens his hold on his shoulder but says nothing. Dean tries to think of other things, tries to forget what he heard and focus on listening to the people around him, trying to pick up on anything that might help with the case when Cas says, “You don’t have to tell me. I don’t mind being quiet with you. But please let me help.”

Dean peeks over at him, knowing his eyes are probably red-rimmed from holding in the tears that want to fall. The open and honest expression on Cas’s face—the pain written all over it just because something’s up with _him_ —is his undoing, and he allows himself to be pulled into Cas’s arms. Cas is a bit shorter than him, but he’s still tall enough that Dean can lie his head on his shoulder with his face tucked into his neck comfortably. Cas takes his weight like he doesn’t weigh a thing, likely because of his mojo, so he can lean into him without worrying about it. One hand is stuck between their chests, and the other one dangles uselessly by his side with the candle still grasped in it.

He can feel Cas’s cheek resting on his head, one arm wrapped around his shoulder, and a big, strong hand moving up and down his back in broad sweeps that seems to put him back together one at a time. Being this close to Cas outside of bed is strange, and that in itself is a fucked up thought to have, but it’s true. Cas smells more like the outside air here than he has before, the wind somehow stuck to his skin, making him think of air streaming in through a rolled down car window or the almost forgotten sensation of riding his bike as fast as he could down the street. His lips quirk into a smile, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders in a quiet sigh.

“Better?” Cas asks quietly.

“Yeah,” he admits.

But he doesn’t pull away, and neither does Cas. For the first time in a really long time, he’s not thinking about being a hunter or a good big brother or watching out for his mom. He’s not the guy who has to save the world. He’s not the ladies man his dad always wanted him to be, and he’s not drinking himself to sleep.

He’s just Dean. Forty-year-old sometimes bisexual who enjoys chick flicks, classic rock, his Baby, burgers, his memory foam mattress, cuddling in his sleep, and soft touches from his dorky best friend. His best friend the angel, who is currently holding him like he believes Dean’s worthy of comfort, of kindness, of love. Who makes him feel alive and warm and _fluttery_ and so damn mad sometimes he wishes he could knock his stupid head off, but who is still always, _always_ there when push comes to shove. Even when he doesn’t deserve it.

“Don’t deserve you,” he says quietly. Cas hums his disagreement, his low voice rumbling in his chest enough that Dean can feel it against his, making him think of how low and soothing his purr was as a cat. “Thanks, Cas.”

Still, he stays where he is, more comfortable than he ever thought he’d be in somebody else’s arms, let alone Cas’s. When the older of the two women handing out candles steps up to a lectern, he shifts just enough so that they’re both facing forwards. Cas’s arm stays around his shoulders and his hand falls down Cas’s back, eventually finding purchase on his hip. Which is really prominent and really fucking hot.

“Good evening. Thank you all so much for joining us.”

And really inappropriate.

Head in the game, Winchester.

She prattles on for a lot longer than he would have thought, and although most people are giving her their undivided attention, there’s still a trickle of chatter all around them. People are apparently unable to shut their damn traps long enough to keep from commenting on what she’s saying about her son, Christopher, and about all the support he got from the gay community. She talks about how Curtis’s parents wanted to be here but couldn’t make it, and Dean hears a distinct snort from behind him.

Not being well-versed in subtlety, he looks over his shoulder and sees a guy standing there by himself in a pair of sweatpants and a too-big t-shirt, looking like he just crawled out of bed for the first time in days.

The guy sees him looking and explains, “Curt’s parents hated his guts for being gay.”

Dean sees the opportunity to get some information and nods his understanding. “My old man woulda gave me a hard time if he was still alive, too. ‘s rough,” he says quietly.

Taking that as an invitation to talk more, the guy walks up and stands next to him. Cas’s thumb begins brushing small, soothing circles into his shoulder and he sends him a quick appreciative glance. The guy says, “This whole thing is a steaming pile of horseshit. Curt’s probably rolling in his grave."

“That sucks. We’re just passing through on our way to Lebanon,” Dean says. “Don’t know much about what’s going on other than two gay guys biting the big one.”

“Three. Don’t forget about Danny.”

“Danny?” Dean asks, knowing perfectly well that’s the guy who died in the car crash and dated both Curtis and Christopher.

“He died in a car accident three months ago.”

Dean glances at Cas, then looks back at the guy on his other side. ”Was he gay too?”

The new guy looks around quickly, then leans in _a lot_ closer than Dean would like to see from a stranger who clearly hasn’t showered, and says, “Not only was he gay, he was dating Curtis and Christopher both at the same time behind their backs, and when they found out...” The guy’s face splits on a huge smile. “They dumped him for each other.”

Dean barks out a quiet laugh. “Talk about karma.”

Cas nudges him and holds out his candle, which is when Dean realizes the other people around them are lighting theirs. He pulls a lighter out of his pocket and lights Cas’s, then his own, and turns to offer to light the stinky guy’s but finds he doesn’t actually have one.

“I gotta get outta here before they find me and kick me out. Don’t buy the bullshit,” weird guy says, shooting him a finger gun, and then he slinks away without another word.

Dean waits until he’s sure he’s really gone, then says, “That was easy.”

“And smelly,” Cas says, wrinkling up his nose.

 _“I’m_ gonna need another shower after that,” Dean agrees with a small laugh.

Cas leans in and presses his nose to his neck, inhaling deeply as he drags it up behind his ear, making Dean’s knees feel like they’re going to give out on him any second. “You still smell like you.” Dean looks down at his candle, pretending to be mesmerized by the flickering of the flame. Cas lowers his voice so it’s barely above a whisper. “But now we know why Danny came back to kill Curtis and Christopher.”

“‘cause they moved on without him?” Cas nods minutely. “Still dumb though. He cheated on them both to begin with.”

“I’m assuming if he’s the kind of man who would be foolish enough to be disloyal when he found not one, but _two_ people who wanted to be with him, he would also be ‘dumb’ enough to want to seek revenge because they found happiness elsewhere.”

That’s basically a whole ass speech for Cas. “Guess you got a point.”

The people standing around them start forming a line in front of the photographs to pay respect (he assumes) and Dean and Cas take that as their cue to leave. Dean dials Sam on their way back to the Impala, hardly even noticing that Cas still has his arm around him until they break apart to get inside.

Dean relays what they learned and Sam laughs heartily. “Wow, there’s one for the books, huh?”

“People are fucked.” Cas nods in agreement from the passenger seat. “So do you think we should salt and burn just in case, or should the killing thing be out of Danny’s system now that those two are toast?”

“Dirt’ll be softer now than later if you wanna do it tonight,” Sam points out.

“Getting too old for this grave digging shit,” Dean grumbles. “Any idea where he’s buried?”

“Hang on,” Sam says. He can hear the clicking of keys, a small pause, then, “Only one cemetery in the city. I’ll text you the address. And Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t throw your back out, old man,” Sam jokes.

Dean bites out a sarcastic, “Ha ha,” before he ends the call and slides his phone into his jacket pocket. “Jerk.”

“I’m more than capable of digging the grave,” Cas says sincerely.

It’s a sense of pride and duty that has him saying, “‘s fine.” He hears his phone ding, types the address into the GPS, and hands the phone to Cas to navigate, putting the car into reverse and taking off towards the cemetery.

Fake boyfriends to digging graves. All in a day’s work for a Winchester.


	7. Chapter 7

Three hours later, Dean’s back is aching, his hands have blisters on top of blisters, Danny’s remains are officially torched, and Dean’s working on washing off a thick layer of dirt and sweat.

He’s down-to-the-bone tired, and his eyes start drooping in the steamy heat of the shower, so he pries his eyes open and rinses the now brown soap suds off quickly and towels dry. In a new set of boxers and an undershirt, he pads back into the room to find Cas standing between the two beds in his jeans and his long-sleeved shirt with his arms behind his back.

Dean crawls into his bed and throws the covers over himself, feeling less exposed now that his bare legs aren’t showing. He waits a few seconds for Cas to get into his own bed, but he doesn’t budge.

“What’re you doin’?” he asks, so tired he can barely string that many words together.

“I’m exhausted,” Cas says, sounding embarrassed about it.

“Go t’bed.”

Cas takes a step closer, then another. He crouches down, reminding Dean vividly of the night before when he woke him up before his nightmare got too bad. “If I fall into a deep sleep it’s possible I won’t hear you if you wake up.”

Dean meets his eyes blearily. Cas looks concerned. His brain already feels like molasses, so trying to work out why takes longer than it probably should. He curls towards Cas instinctively in the meantime, called to him like a magnet as usual. Shuffling closer means his face ends up just beside the hand Cas has on his mattress to keep himself balanced. He inches forwards even more, resting his cheek on the back of Cas’s hand and humming quietly as his eyes drift closed.

He feels something brush through his hair and peeks through his eyelashes at Cas gazing down at him, blue eyes brimming with affection and a tiny smile on his lips as his fingers comb through the short hair on top of his head again.

“Dean?” he whispers quietly. “Can I sleep with you all night tonight?”

“‘kay,” Dean croaks, his voice already groggy with sleep. He pulls his head back just far enough that Cas can move his hand, and in the space of what feels like only a breath, Cas is crawling over top of him, slotting himself along his back, and wrapping his arm snugly around Dean’s middle.

Cas’s breath ghosts over the back of his neck when he says, “Sweet dreams, Dean,” and all Dean can do in response is twine his fingers between Cas’s as he drifts off.

They wake up in a different position. Cas is on his back, Dean’s head is on his chest, and Cas’s arms are looped around his shoulders. He can feel the weight of Cas’s face resting on top of his head, and he tilts his neck back to move into the warmth radiating from the crook of his neck. Cas makes a low, pleased sound as Dean’s nose tucks into his skin and he breathes in the scent of Cas, still smelling just as much like wind and fresh air as he did outside last night. It smells damn good, and he isn’t even thinking when he draws in more with a big, deep breath.

“Dean.” It isn’t a greeting, not said in a good morning type of way. Instead, it’s something almost... cautious. Dean pulls back, giving him his space, mind already whirling and wondering (panicking) that he got too close and crossed some kind of invisible line Cas wasn’t ready for.

A warm hand catches his wrist, his eyes meet Cas’s, and when Cas tugs him back, he goes willingly, onto his shoulder this time when Cas’s hand guides him there. “Just not my neck,” Cas explains quietly.

Dean’s shoulders sag with relief. He can handle that. “Thought you were freaking out,” he mumbles.

“I know. But I’m not. I’m... very happy.”

He is, too. And though he doesn’t say it right then and there, he hopes the fact that he stays in Cas’s arms in the daylight with no reason other than it feels good is enough. The longer he lies there, the more he thinks about the position they’re in... and everywhere they’re touching. Cas has one arm still wound around his shoulder, one of Dean’s legs is between both of Cas’s, and his arm is across Cas’s stomach with his hand curled up to rest on his chest. Cas’s hand is so close to his that their fingers are touching.

He stays still for a long time. Counts the rise and fall of Cas’s sturdy chest, catalogues the back and forth motion of Cas’s thumb on his shoulder blade, feels the light thump of Cas’s heart beating under his ear. He only moves when the arm stuck underneath him starts tingling. He rolls back so that it’s in a different position, and Cas rolls towards him. Both on their sides, they lie there looking at each other, their faces less than a foot apart. Dean takes in the permanent five o’clock shadow Cas has going on, the perfect bow of his pink lips, the crinkles on the sides of his eyes that never used to be there, the curl of his long, dark eyelashes, and finally, he sinks into blue.

Cas’s eyes might be his favorite physical feature, and that’s even after he got a glimpse of his ass in jeans yesterday. It’s just that Cas is terrible at hiding his emotions, leaving everything _right there_ if you know how to read his eyes, and since Dean would like to consider himself to be the expert in all things Cas (but especially his eyes) he can see what’s going through his mind right now.

Wonder. Affection. Warmth. Uncertainty.

The last one gets him.

“What’re you thinkin’?” Dean questions.

“That I must still be dreaming.”

“You dream about me a lot?” Dean quips.

“More often than you might think.”

Dean huffs out a laugh, his heart tumbling in his chest. “You ain’t dreaming.”

“Tell me why,” Cas whispers.

“‘cause I’m awake, and if I’m awake there’s no way you’re—”

Cas cuts him off. “No. Is all this...” He stops there, covers Dean’s hand with his where it lies between them on the mattress. Slowly. Carefully. Hesitantly. “Because of the nightmares?”

Anger, directed solely at himself, flashes through him in a single second, hot and ugly. “You ain’t a tool, Cas.”

Cas furrows his brows, clearly confused, probably from the sudden hard edge to his voice. Dean’s not about to have a chick flick moment at ass o’clock before he’s even had coffee, so he pulls away and draws the covers back up, feeling weird about being in underwear now. But Cas, the stubborn fucker, just scoots closer and places his hand on his shoulder, grounding him with his touch while he waits him out. Cas wins, too, because all he can think about in the silence is how Cas just told him the other day that he only thinks he’s welcome if he’s useful, and like a kick to the gut, he realizes that Cas probably thinks the only reason Dean wants to sleep with him is because of that.

“I’m not using you.”

Cas seems to let that sink in for a little while, his eyes boring into the side of Dean’s face while he waits Cas out this time. Finally, Cas says, “Last night at the vigil, when you were upset and I was holding you...”

Dean closes his eyes, trying to push down his temper and the self-hate swamping him. “Yeah,” he says, smiling bitterly up at the ceiling. “Being with you makes me feel better so I guess I was using you after all. But it wasn’t on purpose. I’m—I’m a fuck up, okay?” When he can’t usually find the right words to say to Cas, they pour out now like a river and there’s not a single thing he can do to stop it. “Thought you—you of all freaking people knew that. Knew what piece of shit you were sleeping next to. Thought you knew how fucked up I am better than anybody, ‘cept maybe Sam, but if you don’t—if you’ve only been—” _Touching me, comforting me, holding me._ The words die in his throat, the idea burning like acid in his stomach and taking up residence behind his eyelids. “—doin’ this because you thought you had to, like I’m some kinda job—”

“Dean, stop,” Cas says, his touch on his shoulder still gentle even though his voice is firm. Dean clenches his teeth together, breathing hard through his nose. If Cas is about to tell him he’s been reading everything over the last few days all wrong he might actually cry. He can feel the rejection settling like a stone inside of him, the weight of it somehow dragging at his stomach and sitting heavily on his chest at the same time. His entire body is tense, strung tight, ready to run away or fight his way out of this before a single tear falls if it’s the last goddamn thing he does.

“Look at me,” Cas begs him.

He shakes his head, his jaw still locked. He startles when he feels a warm hand cup his face. The simple touch has hope blooming foolishly in his chest. His next breath comes out shaky, his lips starting to quiver when Cas’s thumb strokes his cheekbone more gently than anybody has ever touched him in his fucking life. Cas applies pressure to the side of his face, turning his face towards him, and he follows like a moth to a flame. Cas’s hand is still on his face when he feels his forehead rest against his. Their breaths are mingling now and a part of him is hyper aware that this is the closest their lips have ever been.

“You are not a fuck up.” His breath is warm on Dean’s lips. “You are not a piece of shit. You are not fucked up. And I do like to think I know that—and you—better than anyone, save for Sam.”

There’s a hint of playfulness to his voice that has Dean’s eyes opening without him meaning to—

_Blue._

He sinks into that soul piercing blue, lets the familiar color soothe him, surround him, fill him. That blue is safe. Cas is safe. Cas is family. Cas is home.

“I just wanted to know if you were pretending at the vigil,” Cas continues quietly. “Or when you held my hand before bed.”

“Was s’posed to be, right?” Dean whispers, deflecting the best he can with his heart beating this fast.

“But you weren’t?”

Don’t ever let it be said that Dean Winchester is a brave man. Sure, point him in the direction of two dozen monsters he doesn’t have a hope in hell of beating and he’ll charge those mother fuckers without a second thought. What’s the worst thing that can happen? He dies? Well, he’ll be dead, who gives a shit?

But this? Admitting this when it could hurt him like he hasn’t been hurt since Cassie hurt him so long ago? Knowing that he’ll still have to live with Cas, hunt with Cas, look at Cas every damn day and remember how it felt to have him break his fucking heart? Turns out he’s a damn coward. He doesn’t have the balls.

So he doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move. Barely even breathes.

“I’m scared,” Cas whispers, and now that he mentions it, Dean can see it in his eyes. Feel it bleed into him, too. “Terrified, actually. But thinking about looking back at this moment for what could easily be thousands of years and having regrets seems worse than anything, so I’m going to tell you the truth. The entire truth.”

If somebody asked, he would swear his heart isn’t beating at all. Combined with not breathing, he’s starting to get a little light-headed, but all he can do is wait.

“I wasn’t pretending, Dean,” Cas says firmly. Dean lets his breath out in a rush, sucking in another one immediately as Cas says, “I cherished every second of it. Even though I was exhausted, I laid awake holding your hand for hours last night, trying not to fall asleep so I could hold it longer. I found Heaven on Earth the first night I fell asleep with your head on my shoulder and I don’t know how to go back to how it was before. I-I have wanted to be close to you like this for so long, and now I can’t stop wanting more—”

“Don’t.”

Cas stops talking when Dean finally finds his voice. Cas’s blue eyes dart side to side, frantically trying to find the meaning behind what Dean just said, and because he still doesn’t trust himself to say another word without sounding like a complete moron after being pretty damn sure he was about to have a freakin’ heart attack a second ago, he does the only thing he can think to do.

He kisses Cas.

He doesn’t even think about it this time, he just surges forwards, cups the back of Cas’s neck, and pulls him in. Their lips connect solidly, seeking each other’s over and over, desperate and messy until they hit the sweet spot and—just like that—he’s _sunk._ He melts, all traces of tension seeping from his body and releasing with a soft, needy sound against Cas’s lips as they move together again and again.

Cas pulls away before they’ve even really gotten started, his gasping breath hot across Dean’s mouth, his eyes wild with surprise. “Dean,” he breathes, his voice so low it’s almost a growl, and then he dives back in, getting more firm and more confident with every kiss. Cas’s hand is a trail of fire where it grasps at his back, his shoulder, moulds to his tailbone. Cas’s stubble is scraping against his, a sensation almost forgotten and so much better than he remembers that it sends sparks down his spine and blood pooling between his legs. “I-I’ve wanted—” Cas says, breaking off on a groan when Dean’s teeth sink into his plush lower lip before he pulls it into his mouth. Cas’s mouth presses into his harder than ever, a wrecked, broken sound cranking Dean’s arousal up to eleven as Dean’s forced onto his back. Cas is fucking solid, his chest holding Dean’s down with a heavy, relentless weight Dean would happily stay pinned under for _years._ His hands come up and bury themselves in Cas’s hair, exactly the way he’s dreamed of doing so many fucking times but somehow winds up even better than he imagined. “—for so long,” Cas finally manages to finish.

“Same,” Dean gasps.

This time when their mouths reconnect, it’s with an obviously frustrated groan that Dean can interpret as, “We’re _idiots,”_ even as Cas is slipping his tongue into his mouth with more finesse than he ever expected out of _Cas._ In fact, Dean loses three full seconds to complete shock when Cas plunders his mouth deftly, skillfully taking him apart with one sinful flick of his tongue after another before he manages to come back to himself. He returns Cas’s kiss with everything he has, massaging his tongue with his, finally pouring every ounce of desperation, excitement, and desire he’s been feeling for the last ten years directly into the source of it all.

The need to breathe is what forces them apart the second time, but fuck that. He didn’t wait this long to stop already. He chases Cas’s lips between breaths, drawing Cas back down with two quick pecks that turn into a longer and more tender kiss that quiets his libido and increases the warmth in his chest that’s already taking that _fluttering_ to a whole other level.

The next thing he knows, Cas’s forehead is against his, their lips are no longer together, and the hotel room is entirely silent except for the sound of their heavy breathing. As reality sinks in, his eyes meet Cas’s with a sense of... disbelief.

He just kissed Cas.

Cas kissed him back.

Cas said he’s wanted to kiss him for “so long”.

“You kissed me,” Cas says, his voice and expression telling him he’s probably going through the same kind of _holy fuck_ moment that Dean is.

It’s a reflex when he says, “Sorry.”

Cas narrows his eyes, his weight settling back onto the bed next to him instead of pressing him into the mattress. He props himself up with his head in his hand, looking remarkably human. “Are you?”

“Not really.” His heart’s thudding so hard he can hear it. “‘less you want me to be,” he adds, giving Cas the option of an out.

“I don’t,” Cas answers immediately. Dean’s smile comes easily, though there’s still undeniable fear swirling in his stomach. Cas smiles back, just a small one, but enough that it helps a little. “It probably would have been wiser for us to talk about this first.”

“I’m not so great with the talkin’,” Dean says with a smirk he hopes masks his insecurities.

“I have no complaints about the kissing though,” Cas teases, and his smile turns into something more genuine. “Would you like to do that again?”

He gives Cas his best come-hither look and says, “Yeah, c’mere, angel.”

Cas ducks his face to attempt to hide another smile, but he sucks at it and Dean chuckles quietly. “I meant in the future.”

“I know that.” His voice is dry, but he makes sure his eyes remain kind. Cas lifts his eyebrows, clearly still waiting for an answer, and Dean sighs as he rolls his eyes dramatically. “Yes. Fine. Whatever.”

“Your enthusiasm is overwhelming.” Dean can’t hold in a snort of laughter, feeling some of his nerves disappear along with it. “I don’t want to make things between us more complicated than they need to be,” Cas tells him, quietly now.

Dean sighs, honestly this time. “Not complicated works. I’m no good at this stuff, Cas. Hell, you’ll probably be pissed at me a handful of times before we even get Baby home because I say something stupid.”

Cas’s eyes light up with silent laughter because they both know there’s some truth in that. “Luckily, I have plenty of experience being angry with you. That will be fine. All I ask is that you tell me when you’re ready to move on.”

He feels an odd little twinge hearing Cas say that, but he speaks before he has a chance to think too hard about it. “If I’m kissin’ you I’m not gonna be kissin’ anybody else.” He swallows, his throat feeling thick and clogged with what he wants to say next, but he says it anyway. Maybe a little more gruff than he wanted to. “And I’ll kick your ass if you do.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Cas says, and Dean appreciates the hell out of him for making this as easy as he is.

“I mean it,” Dean tells him, though he’s mostly teasing now. “No more...” He gestures vaguely until the right words come. “Pressin’ demons up against the wall or charming reapers with those baby blues of yours.”

Cas looks an endearing mix of embarrassed and annoyed by the suggestion. “Those were both _years_ ago and I was angry with you when I met April.”

Dean shrugs, not nearly as okay with hearing anything about that as he’s trying to pretend to be. “Probably be pissed at me a lot. Still better keep your paws to yourself unless you wanna find yourself sigil-banished to who knows where.”

“Thankfully I already have ten years of practicing keeping my hands to myself,” Cas says with a pointed look in his direction.

“Oh, you lyin’ son of a bitch,” Dean scoffs, chuckling. “You wanted to kill me for _at least_ the first year you flew down here.”

“Only sometimes,” Cas defends, which makes him burst out laughing. Cas talks over him with, “You forget I was reassigned almost immediately because of all the things you made me feel.”

He does have a vague recollection of that happening a while ago, though he tried not to think too much of Cas back then. A part of him wants to ask if he’s serious, if Cas really liked him all that time, but he hasn’t gotten any better at talking about his feelings in the last four minutes, so he decides against it.

“Must’ve got your wires crossed with all those times you beat the shit outta me.”

“You _are_ more infuriating than any other human I’ve encountered,” Cas admits. “But I had to do something with all of that pent up frustration.” Dean snorts another laugh. “At least now I know kissing might be a better alternative.”

“Might be?” Dean echoes, pursing his lips in a playful contemplation.

“The next time you do something so foolish I lose my head and push you against a wall, I’ll try to remember to check,” Cas shoots back.

The thrill of excitement he gets from the idea of Cas throwing him against a wall like he has so many times before—all rough and powerful—only to close the distance between them with a bruising kiss says something about him, but he’s not sure he’s ready to admit to what that is quite yet.  

He licks his lips regardless and feels attraction spark between them when Cas’s eyes dip to watch. He’s already breathing a little bit harder than he was a second ago, painfully obvious of the way his shoulders are heaving with each breath, and even though he’s dying to kiss Cas again, apparently it’s not any easier to make a move even though he’s already done it once.

“Dean?” Cas asks, and he knows just from the way Cas is looking at him that he’s asking for permission to do the exact thing he’s thinking about, so he nods. His head barely even moves before Cas is on him, kissing him breathless a second time, causing arousal to rush through him all the way to his fuckin’ toes in a single second.

Because Cas kisses the same way he does everything else: no nonsense, no skirting around the edges, no hesitancy. He just _takes._ His lips are intense and unwavering, his tongue hot and skilled, and Dean’s helpless to do anything but submit. He goes where Cas moves him, lets Cas bend his body to fit better with his, gives when Cas pushes, and incredibly, finds himself flying with the freedom. He relinquishes all semblance of control without another thought, high with the excitement of not being in charge for once, ready and willing to be driven towards whatever level Cas can take him to.

His lungs are burning with the need for air when Cas’s breaks their kiss, his breaths coming out in quick pants as Cas’s clever lips follow his jawline to just behind his ear, and he makes a sound of surprise and pleasure when Cas sucks gently on his sensitive skin.

“Dean.” Cas’s voice is even lower than usual so close to his ear, and just hearing his name sounding _like that_ has him frantically turning his head to find Cas’s lips once more. They connect again, searing hot and unbelievably good, and this time Cas has a hand on his face holding him steady, holding him still so his tongue can dip into his mouth again and again. His arousal skyrockets at the sensation of Cas’s calloused hands on his skin, and the sheer masculinity combined with the things _he knows_ these hands are capable of has him nipping at Cas’s lips.

Cas pulls back with a sharp intake of breath, and when he gets his first glance at those blue eyes he loves, so much darker now than he’s ever seen them, he surges forwards and latches onto his neck.

Cas makes a choked off sounding, _“O-oh,”_ before he lets out the lowest, filthiest moan Dean’s ever heard when his lips start traveling along Cas’s skin. Apparently Cas has a thing with his neck, because all Dean’s doing is leaving opened-mouth kisses up the long column of his throat to his razor-sharp jaw, breath hitching at the rough stubble beneath his lips, and Cas is moaning like a ten-dollar whore and digging his long, thick fingers deep into the flesh covering his hip bone. _“Dean.”_

The sound has goosebumps spreading along his arms and his teeth scraping under Cas’s chin. “The way you say my name, Cas, _fuck,”_ Dean admits breathlessly.

Two hands frame his face, guide him back until they’re looking at one another, both flushed, panting, and searching the other for a clue of what to do next. He has no idea what Cas sees when he looks at him—maybe how he feels like he’s going to come in his boxers like some prepubescent teenager just from a kiss, maybe Cas can actually hear the way he’s silently praying for him to keep going—but the next thing he knows, Cas is reaching behind him, grasping his shirt, and pulling it up and over his head.

Miles of tanned, muscular, _naked_ skin is exposed, and Dean’s hands are roaming before he’s even given himself permission to have this. His fingers grip strong arms, bulging biceps, toned shoulders, and trace a defined collarbone so mouthwateringly sexy that it makes him want to weep. He kicks away the blankets covering his lower half and Cas moves between his parted legs like he belongs there, their hardening cocks nestling together and making his breath shudder even with the layers of clothes between them. Then Cas lets Dean take his weight as he brings their mouths back together, and Dean is lost in sensation.

His first conscious thought is that Cas feels fucking _good_ on top of him. Cas is so warm, heavy, and hard everywhere they’re touching, and Dean cannot keep his hands from exploring the smorgasbord of his incredibly toned back. A pair of needy sounds are muffled between them the first time Dean bucks up against Cas, their clothed cocks dragging together and creating some damn good (albeit a little dry) friction that has Cas pushing him deeper into the mattress with an answering thrust of his own.

“Cas, fuck,” Dean blurts. Cas responds with a low hum deep in his throat as he works his lips across Dean’s face and back to his neck, his hands dancing down Dean’s flank where his fingers tease at the hem of his undershirt.

“Can I—?”

“Yeah,” Dean answers without even a thought. “Hell yeah.”

Cas leans back into a kneeling position, tugging Dean with a surprising (and hot as fuck) display of strength until he’s sitting, and then Cas lifts his shirt off and over his head. Dean falls back onto his elbows, very aware of Cas’s eyes sweeping up and down his bare torso greedily before they settle back upon his face. Dean barely resists the urge to squirm, knowing perfectly well that Cas is about to say some sappy—

“You’re beautiful, Dean.”

Yup. There it is. _Beautiful._ The worst part isn’t even the ridiculous compliment Cas chose, though it is a load of shit. He’s covered in scars, fading bruises, and quite frankly, though he may have been able to turn heads with chiseled abs in his prime, he’s a solid decade past that. His stomach is flabby from too many burgers and beers now, and it, like rest of him, is a far cry from beautiful.

But what’s even worse than the praise is the reverent tone in Cas’s voice and the honesty in his eyes when he said it. Because he _can_ read Cas’s eyes and that’s all that’s in there—truth, affection, and desire—and he doesn’t even know what to do with that because it doesn’t make a lick of sense. Cas has seen the entire freaking universe, all the wonders of the world, Heaven, Hell, and everything in between and thinks— _really thinks—_ that Dean’s beautiful?

He’s nothing.

“Not really a pillow talk sorta guy,” Dean lies, all too aware of the blush still creeping along his cheeks from the compliment.

Cas’s eyes turn a little sad, but he nods and settles himself back between Dean’s legs and catches his lips in a firm but closed mouth kiss before he kisses down his throat and over his Adam’s apple. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he murmurs as he goes, dropping wet kisses along his collarbone. “I just wanted you to know I’m attracted to you.”

Internally, Dean preens, pleased beyond belief that Cas thinks he’s easy on the eyes. Outwardly, he huffs with embarrassment and wraps his hand around Cas’s neck to draw him in for another kiss, giving him all of his best stuff to hopefully force any remaining coherent thoughts far enough out of Cas’s mind that he stops saying shit that makes him blush and feel all _fluttery_ inside. It only takes a few minutes to drive Cas back into the ravenous state of mind he was in earlier, and Dean hears a moan slip out of himself when Cas urges one of his legs around his thick waist and they start grinding again.

It’s been too fucking long since somebody stronger than him has had him pressed into a mattress and his blood is almost boiling from it, his dick more on board and harder than he’s been in ages, and because he can feel his desperation rising to a fever pitch and he knows exactly how humiliating it can be when he gets there, he lets his hands work between their bodies to Cas’s fly before he loses it.

Cas breaks the seal of their lips and gazes down at him, looking dazed and breathing heavily and so fucking hot Dean has to bite his bottom lip to stop from begging for his cock.

“Wanna get these off?” Dean manages after a long moment of held eye contact that somehow does nothing to kill his raging boner.

“Yes.”

“Thank fuck,” Dean sighs, exposing his throat in an invitation Cas takes as his mouth closes over the junction of his shoulder and neck while he blindly works Cas’s fly down and jeans over his hips. Cas kicks them off of his legs and Dean peers down to where Cas’s cock is tenting his white boxer shorts in a pretty impressive way. His mind wanders, thinking about how long it’s been since he had a nice heavy cock on his tongue, how he’s dying to have Cas hold him down and fuck his brains out, and how he can’t wait to make an angel blow his load.

“C’mere, Cas,” Dean says urgently, his voice gritty. “Wanna feel you.”

Then Cas’s hips are spreading his thighs, his cock forming an _x_ across Dean’s for a split second before they get themselves lined up, and as he feels his sensitive cockhead nudge against Cas’s, his mouth opens on a silent cry of pleasure. Cas’s lips smash back into his, still so soft and pliant but hot and demanding as hell as he licks into his mouth like he’s starving for him, and the final thread of Dean’s restraint _snaps._ His hands are needy and rough as they push down Cas’s sculpted back to finally slide onto his ass. He sucks in a sharp breath at the first handful of two solid globes of firm, muscular ass, squeezing again and again as he drags Cas harder and faster against his throbbing cock.

Cas groans, throaty and raw, and when he starts asking, “C-can I—?”

Dean cuts him off with an equally fervent, “Yes. Fuck, yes to  _anything,_ Cas.”

Then Cas is scrambling with Dean’s boxers, his thick fingers pulling Dean’s leaking cock free and wrapping around him so fucking perfectly he can’t resist bucking into his fist, crying out with the freaking awesome feeling of skin-on-skin friction and the knowledge that _Cas is jerking him off._

But he’s dreamed of this, dreamed of Cas for way too long not to get his hands on him at the first opportunity, too. So he forces his brain to stay online and pushes Cas’s boxers down over his ass, stopping just long enough to get a firm hold on his bare cheeks before he takes Cas’s cock into his hand. And _holy fuck._ Either it’s been too long since he’s been with another guy and he forgot what it felt like to have a dick in his hand that isn’t his own, or Cas is a hell of a lot bigger than he is. Either way, he works Cas’s cock eagerly, drinking in every little sound he can wring from the angel until Cas is reduced to a trembling mess, chanting his name over and over, all rough and breathless, and Dean never wants to hear him say another word ever again. Running his palm up his shaft and over Cas’s cockhead tells him he’s dripping like a fucking faucet, and he gets about five seconds of alternating between twisting his wrist around the slickened top and dragging his thumb over the tip before Cas fucking _growls._

The next thing he knows, Cas is taking control again, knocking his hand away and grasping both cocks in his fucking massive hand and stroking them together. Dean almost blows his load then and there, and latches onto Cas’s neck again to stop himself from making all of the high-pitched sounds that only toe-curling ecstasy can rip out of him, just to get treated to another depraved moan from Cas instead.

 _“Fuck,”_ Dean whimpers, thrusting into the warm, slick glide of Cas’s palm and up against the burning flesh of his cock. Cas changes his position, causing their balls to rub together deliciously with the next thrust, and Dean curses again, then pulls him in for another needy kiss that only lasts seconds before they’re both diminished to panting into the other’s mouth.

Cas is looking directly into his eyes, and though it’s more intimate than he ever lets himself get with anybody, it’s _Cas_ and so he can’t look away. He feels something snap into place inside of him—something big and scary and tremendously significant—and forces it down where he can lock it away. Because Cas’s eyes are wild, his breathing nothing more than harsh puffs of air, and he doesn’t want to miss what’s about to happen.

They keep moving together for what feels like forever and no time at all: hands and mouths exploring hard planes and soft valleys, eagerly learning every sound, every spot, every flicker of emotion in each other’s eyes until they’re so wholly in tune with one another’s bodies he’s right on the brink at the same time as when Cas’s steady rhythm falters.

Cas squeezes his eyes closed, his body tensing when he grunts, “I’m—I’m going to—”

Unbelievable heat rises up inside of him. He’s suddenly starving for Cas’s orgasm, dying to see him lose it, feel him coat him with his cum.

“Gonna come on me, angel?” he asks, making sure to keep his voice low and husky, shooting Cas a cocky grin when his eyes snap open.

“Yes,” Cas grits out, and _nobody_ is more surprised than him when Cas sounds every bit as needy as he feels when he adds, “All over you.”

“Do it,” Dean begs him, the words nearly lost on the moan they come out with, so far gone he doesn’t give a single fuck how desperate he sounds. “C’mon, Cas. Do it.”

 _“Dean.”_ Cas damn near snarls his name a split second before he locks up, and Dean only has enough time to think he’s never going to be able to hear Cas say his name ever again without popping a boner before Cas buries his face in his neck with a groan and the first hot spurt of cum hits his lower stomach.

The electric buzz of grace surges over his skin and he knows without having to see that Cas’s eyes are glowing blue. Inexplicably, more intense heat swallows him up, blue flashes behind his eyes, his fingernails dig into Cas’s back, and his hips jerk as his cock kicks and he comes hard between them with a shout of his own.

He’s barely aware of the sting on his neck as Cas teeth clamp down, too distracted by the unbelievable pleasure and perfect pressure of Cas’s big hand still stroking him gently through his release, both of them wet and sticky and so fucking _messy_ that all he can do is lie back and bask in a truly fantastic orgasm as he starts to come down bit by bit.

Neither of them move for what feels like a really long time. It might be nice, except the longer they lie there, the more Dean’s head clears and he starts thinking about what a terrible fucking idea this was. What the hell are they going to do now? Does Cas think they’re going to date? Does he _want_ to date Cas? How would dating even work when they live in the same place with Sam and Jack? If they _do_ date, what happens when they break up? Is Cas gonna move out? Fly off and never come back all because of him?

“Dean.” The sound of his name on Cas’s lips stops his spiraling. “You’re projecting your thoughts very loudly right now, and when they’re focused on me the way they are when we’re this close physically, you might as well be praying directly to me.”

“Shut up,” Dean says petulantly, glad Cas is still tucked into his neck so he can’t see his face.

Cas sounds all kinds of fucked out and relaxed in a way a tiny part of him _really_ wants to get used to. “Stop worrying so much. Nothing has to change.”

“Yeah right,” Dean snorts. “I’ve been here before, Cas. Nothing has to change turns into _why didn’t you call me last night_ in three months or less.”

“If you look through our text messages I think you’ll find you’re the one who asks that question more than me.”

Dean opens his mouth to respond before he realizes that’s probably true. “Didn’t say it wouldn’t be me,” he says snippily.

Cas chuckles breathlessly, but he pushes himself up to his elbows to gaze intently down at him. “I care about you.” Dean feels himself close up the second the words are out of his mouth and knows that Cas can see it, which explains the hint of stubbornness that suddenly becomes visible in his eyes and the set of his jaw. “And I cared about you the same way yesterday and a year ago, so I’m not placating you when I say nothing here has changed.”

And because that’s true when it comes to his own feelings, too, he swallows his fear and says, “So what now?”

“I believe the typical order for humans is shower and then clothes.”

“You gotta shower too, angel boy.”

“No I don’t.” Then Dean feels the unmistakable sensation of grace, and he gives Cas a shove so that he rolls over to expose his clean, tanned skin and perfectly styled hair once again. He narrows his eyes at the grinning jerk, and says, “Cheater.”

“You only have to ask, Dean, and I would do the same for you.”

For some reason—something in his voice or his eyes—despite what Cas actually said, Dean _hears,_ “and I would do anything for you,” and it makes his heart thump hard and fast in his chest.

“Human is as human does,” Dean says, grimacing at the sticky sensation of drying cum on his stomach. “Besides, I gotta piss like a racehorse anyway.”

He hears Cas sigh heavily, sounding so put-upon that it brings a satisfied smile back to his face as he walks buck naked towards the shower, feeling weirdly optimistic that everything’s gonna work out after all.


	8. Chapter 8

The optimism manages to hold all through breakfast at the diner they stop at on the way home, the phone call he makes to Sam from the Impala to let him know they’re on their way (even though he gets pissy about the charge on the credit card from the night before), and about forty five seconds after he hangs up.

And it’s not Cas’s fault or even that he’s doing anything specific, it’s just that every time he catches a glimpse of him out of the corner of his eye he’s reminded of Cas moving so sinfully on top of him. Of the sound Cas made when he came. Of the bruise Cas bit and then sucked into his shoulder that stings every time the seat belt touches it. He can’t stop licking his lips, tapping the steering wheel, or jiggling his leg trying to calm himself down, and the worst part is that he fucking knows Cas has noticed because Cas notices everything when it comes to him.

But he isn’t saying anything.

In fact, Cas doesn’t say a damn word for over an hour, even when the sexual tension is so thick in the car he can barely breathe, and it’s pissing him off! He hasn’t had to deal with something like this since he was a damn teenager because he hasn’t _clicked_ like he did with Cas in bed and hung around for the aftermath in a long ass time, so he’s _really_ out of practice acting like he isn’t affected by Cas sitting so close to him while the highlights from a few hours ago replay in his mind over and over.

It’s even worse somehow knowing that once they pull into the bunker it’s going to be impossible to get any time alone without raising suspicions, and he’s nowhere close to being ready to tell Sam and Jack about this little thing he and Cas have going on. So that means every mile they get closer to the bunker makes fighting the itch he’s currently feeling get a little... harder. The sweat on his brow starts to drip a little bit further, the churning in his stomach speeds up, and the tremor in his hands gets a little more obvious.

He’s about an hour away from the bunker when he can’t take it anymore. He pulls off onto the first dirt road he sees and drives with his hands wringing the leather steering wheel until he sees an abandoned looking building off to one side. He parks behind it, craning his neck to make sure nobody’s around, and when he turns back to face Cas, ready and willing to beg if he needs to, Cas lunges across the seat and has his tongue in his mouth as his spine is pressed into the armrest.

Dean moans—completely shameless—when he feels the sharp stab of pain at the same time as the thick line of Cas’s hard cock becomes obvious against his inner thigh. Cas wanted this too, just as bad as he did, and knowing that is all it takes to have him reaching for Cas’s fly. He barely has his zipper down before Cas pulls away, straightens up, and heaves Dean onto his lap like he doesn’t weigh a fucking thing.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean curses breathlessly as Cas frees him from his pants and starts jerking him off hard and fast. Apparently Cas has no fucking shame about going for exactly what he wants, because Cas manhandles him until he can feel Cas’s cock pressed nice and snug to the crease of his ass cheeks and then rocks Dean’s hips to get him to move. He starts riding him in earnest, feeling his cockhead kiss the soft material of Cas’s tie with each thrust and cursing himself for not having the patience to use the condom and lube stashed in the glove box. He isn’t able to catch his breath before Cas’s mouth finds the mottled hickey he left earlier, and he makes a low sound of pleasure as Cas starts worrying the spot with his mouth: lips soft, tongue hot, teeth hard. Only minutes later, Dean comes embarrassingly fast with his chin hooked over Cas’s shoulder and his forehead stuck to the leather seat.

Thankfully, Cas is only a few thrusts behind, and Dean moans for a second time when he feels the flood of warmth beneath him and spark of grace on his skin that can only mean Cas came in his fucking _slacks._ In the holy accountant pants and old man boxer shorts that _should not_ make that hotter but _really_ does anyway. He lowers his temple to Cas’s shoulder, still breathing hard and sweating like he just ran a fucking marathon, unconsciously using his thumb to stroke the hair at the back of Cas’s neck just above the collar of his trench coat.

“Better?” Cas asks him, his voice rich with that low, sated tone that he already knows he’s gonna need to hear another thousand times before he gets over it.

“Yeah,” Dean breathes. “That oughta last me a good twenty minutes.”

Cas hums happily and draws him away from his neck only to lean forwards to capture his lips in a surprisingly tender kiss that has him melting into his best friend’s arms and leaning into the warm hand cupping his face. He’s short on breath for a completely different reason when they pull apart some time later, his throat dry as a desert and his heart working double time trying to pump enough blood back to his brain so he can figure out how the hell to escape the vulnerable situation he just let himself fall into.

He’s _straddling Cas_ in his car with his flaccid dick hanging out, and he just indulged in a soft and sweet post-hand-job-make-out-session with the guy he’s stuck in a car with for another hour. What the fuck was he thinking?

“Dean,” Cas says gently, and Dean reluctantly lifts his eyes to meet blue.

If he didn’t feel the lack of grace in the air he’d swear Cas was using mojo to soothe his frayed nerves, but though he knows he’s not, he still doesn’t know how Cas manages to accomplish it with just the look in his eyes.

“If you ask nicely I’ll help clean you up,” Cas teases, his mouth quirking at the corner.

“You’re such a dick,” Dean grouses, looking down to assess the mess and seeing a splash of his cum on Cas’s skewed tie and feeling his face heat with renewed arousal. “But you better clean yourself up first or I’m never gonna last another hour lookin’ at that.”

Cas glances down and huffs a laugh at what Dean’s obviously alluding to. “You’re nothing like I thought you’d be.”

He flushes hard, but finds the false bravado to ask, “Thought I wouldn’t be able to get it up again that fast, huh?”

“No, I thought you’d be squeamish with me in a male body and everything that entails.”

Dean deflects with a snarky comment. “Been telling you for years you don’t know everything.”

Using the opportunity Cas’s eye roll gives him, he looks closer at the mess all over himself and comes to terms with his jeans being ruined. He briefly considers thumbing it to Cas and just driving home in them anyway, but imagining Sam’s glee at him walking in the bunker covered in spunk with Cas by his side  _plus_ the never-ending questions from Jack has him nixing that idea pretty fast. He thinks about changing into a different pair of jeans from his duffel before he makes the drive back but ultimately decides against it when he thinks about the hassle of taking off his boots in a gravel parking lot just to change his pants. He sighs heavily and says, “Could you do me a solid with the jeans, Cas?”

Cas, the fucker, smiles briefly before he leans in and brushes his lips to his forehead. Dean is about to complain—to tell him he might like dick but he is not a chick, thank you very much—when he feels the surge of grace and realizes the forehead kiss replaced the two finger touch he usually uses.

Absolutely mortified, he tucks himself back into his dyer-warm boxers and mumbles a thanks before he gets back behind the wheel with his cheeks burning hot.

“You’re breathtaking when you blush,” Cas says sincerely.

“Fuck off,” Dean scoffs.

Cas doesn’t reply even after he’s pulled back onto the highway, and he worries over it for a solid two minutes—was he too mean? Did he already fuck this up?—until he breaks to peek over to check if Cas is pissed. He sees him with a tiny smile on his lips, and when Cas reaches over to rest his hand on his knee, he feels optimism worm its way back into his chest.

It reminds him a lot of driving with Cas as a cat when he put his head on his knee, and though he feels particularly warm on the inside at the memory, it still takes half of the remaining drive back before he gets the balls to link their fingers together. When the tension in his chest unravels almost instantly, he beats himself up for resisting in the first place. This isn’t so bad, really. No worse than petting down Cas’s back when he was covered in fur. He lets himself just enjoy the simple act of holding hands with somebody he cares about until they pull onto the road that leads to the bunker and Cas breaks the silence.

“I understand if you’re not comfortable doing this back at home,” Cas says suddenly, squeezing his hand to make his meaning clear.

“Yeah,” Dean huffs out automatically. “If it’s not a big deal, then I’d kinda like to keep all this just between us for now. You know how Sam is and I don’t want him on my ass about it all the time.”

Cas gives his hand another squeeze before he lets it go. “Got it.”

He’s glad Cas doesn’t sound disappointed or upset, though he kinda wishes Cas had held on until they got all the way home. _Home._ Home with Cas after everything that’s happened today is definitely going to be different. As he thinks about that, his mind goes to watching TV with Cas on the couch and he considers it might not necessarily have to be _bad_ different. Not when it comes to this anyway. The idea of holding hands with his head on Cas’s shoulder gives him a strange sense of... longing he didn’t think he'd feel for anyone, let alone Cas. As much as it pains him to admit it even to himself, he might not mind doing something like that if it’s with Cas.

He still can’t come right out and say it, but Cas knows him well enough that he’d probably hear what he actually means instead of what he says. He clears his throat as he pulls into the garage and says, “I mean, if we’re alone and you absolutely have to hold hands or whatever, I guess it’s not the end of the world.”

He was right. The expression on Cas’s face has softened, and Dean relaxes even further when he says, “Thank you, Dean.”

Dean puts his Baby in park, unbuckles, and shoots him a genuine smile, glad that if he has to fumble through this bullshit with anybody it’s with Cas. Their eyes lock, though, and he feels that tug towards him he always feels when they’re looking at each other. “One more for the road?” he asks, and Cas meets him halfway for a long, satisfying kiss that has his toes curling in his boots and his fingers clinging to Cas’s trench coat for dear life.

He’s always considered himself to be a competent kisser but there’s just something about the way Cas kisses him that has him sinking into it every single time, going completely lax and forgetting about every damn thing but him. It’s intoxicating and addictive and he has no idea how he’s going to survive the rest of the day without it now that he knows what he’s missing.

With his brain now adequately muffled when they pull apart, he lets out what he’s been worrying about off and on since this morning. “You better not bail on me when I fuck this up.”

Cas kisses him again, chastely this time, a comfort more than anything. “Bailing on you isn’t an option. I’m not leaving.”

Dean nods as he licks the taste of Cas off of his still damp lips and offers him a shaky smile. “Let’s get the show on the road then.”

He walks into the bunker with his bag over his shoulder and Cas right behind him as usual. Both Sam and Jack are sitting at the map table, so they all exchange greetings as he and Cas go over to join them.

“How’s the back?” Sam asks.

“Reminds me I’m not 25 anymore every time I breathe,” he says bitterly, which of course, makes Sam laugh.

“Did you have a good time with Sam?” Cas asks Jack.

“It was great! We watched the first two Harry Potter movies last night!”

“Nerds,” Deans says fondly.

“Takes one to know one,” Sam sing-songs.

“Nice to be home, isn’t it?” Cas asks Dean, and Dean just barely manages to keep a soft smile off of his face. Orgasms are good for his mood, apparently.

“Heard from mom?” Dean checks, purposely changing the subject to something more safe.

“No, you?” Sam asks.

“Nothin’.” A sense of unease sinks in, but it’s familiar enough now because of his mom’s reluctance to check in that he doesn’t let it monopolize his thoughts like it would have before. “I’ll text her later. What’s the plan for the rest of the day?”

Sam fills him in about some ancient text he and Jack have been working on, asking for Cas’s help now that he’s here, and then explains he promised Jack some shooting practice later, which Dean is more than happy to volunteer to help with. Since nothing is pressing now, he heads to his room to unpack and settle back in.

He’s stuffing his clothes into the washing machine an hour or so later when he sees Cas poke his head into the laundry room. “Would you mind washing the clothes I wore yesterday?”

“You didn’t mojo them clean?”

“Just the mess, not the rest of the material,” Cas explains.

Because he knows exactly what _the mess_ was, he blushes and deliberately takes a step back from the washing machine and gestures to it for Cas to toss his jeans and shirt in.

Cas does so, somewhat awkwardly, and then closes the lid. Dean opens it without a word and adds a cap full of detergent, then closes it again and turns the dial.

“I would offer to switch them over to the dryer for you in exchange for your help now but though I’m familiar with the way the dryer works, I’ve never actually used one,” Cas says sheepishly.

He looks fucking adorable when he smiles all sideways like that and Dean has to clear his mind forcibly to be able to snark at him. “Toldja you don’t know everything.” Cas is gearing up to argue, so Dean butts in with, “You can owe me one. I’ll show you how to work it when this load’s done.”

“Thank you,” Cas says primly.

He purposely doesn’t make eye contact before he strides past him and down the hall back towards his room, oddly proud of himself for treating Cas exactly the same way he has for the last ten years and not giving into the fleeting urge he had to pull him in nice and close by his tie to kiss him senseless. He can _totally_ do this. This is gonna be fine.

“Hey, was Cas with you?” Sam asks as he walks by.

He jumps and responds much too quickly. “What? No? Why?”

Sam looks at him like he has three heads. “Because he told me he had clothes to wash?”

“Well quit asking stupid questions then,” Dean barks, ignoring Sam calling his name as he walks past.

So close.

There’s a knock on his door just under an hour later. “Yeah?” he answers, not bothering to look up from the video he’s watching on YouTube.

Cas pushes his door open. “The washing machine is finished.”

“Thanks. Got sucked into YouTube videos,” he says, closing his laptop. “Let’s show you how’s it done, huh?”

Cas’s mouth presses into a tight smile as Dean gets off of his bed and leads the way down the winding halls towards the laundry room.

“What videos were you watching?”

“Oh, uh, heh,” he responds, chuckling nervously. “Cat videos actually.”

Cas’s voice is every bit as smug as he expected when he says, “I thought you didn’t like cats?”

Dean shrugs. “Guess they grew on me.”

Cas makes a contemplative sound low in his throat. “What were the cats doing?”

“Stealing stuff.” He can see the tilted head in his peripheral vision. “Sneaking up and stealing whatever they want. Some cats were stealing food—like, a tiny little cat smaller than you were grabbing a loaf of bread off of the counter and dragging the whole bag away. One took a whole big ass bag of beef jerky and ran with it. Another one was stealing food from a baby’s high chair.”

“Do you think they all vomited afterwards?”

Dean shoots Cas a genuine smile. “Bet they weren’t all ashamed and sad looking like you were.”

“It was embarrassing not to have control over my own body,” Cas says, following him through the doorway and into the laundry room.

“I thought you were pretty cute afterwards. For a cat.”

When Cas looks at him curiously, he ignores whatever the silent question is and opens up the washing machine to move the clothes over.

“I can do that,” Cas offers. Dean steps back with a nod and watches as Cas pulls the clothes out of the washer and transfers them to the dryer. “Cold, wet clothes isn’t a very pleasant feeling,” Cas says with a grimace aimed at his hands.

“One of the worst,” Dean agrees. He can't help but look at Cas's ass though, cursing the trench coat for covering his ass as he bends over the dryer. “You could lose the trench coat around the bunker, you know,” he says, words coming out before he’s thought them through.

Cas looks over his shoulder, arching his eyebrows. “Why would I do that?”

He tries to cover for his lack of a filter with a shrug. “People don’t usually wear coats inside.”

“You never said anything before.”

Okay, forget the stupid filter. “Well I couldn’t come right out and tell you I wanna check out your ass before,” Dean says quietly, making sure nobody can overhear him.

Cas seems stunned stupid for a second or two, but then he responds, “I suppose that does change things.”

“Anyway,” Dean says, trying to get back on track. He points to the dryer sheets on the shelf above the machines. “Now toss a couple of those inside." Cas reaches up, grabs a few, puts the dryer sheets in as instructed, and Dean says, "Now all you do is turn the dial here to sixty, hit the button, and hope nothing shrinks.”

“Does that happen often?” Cas wonders, sounding worried.

“Nah, just bugging ya,” Dean chuckles, giving his shoulder a friendly pat. Cas follows his instructions by turning the dial and pressing the go button, causing the ancient dryer to start rumbling, and Cas smiles back at him.

“That’s it?” Cas checks.

“Congratulations. You’re a billion years old and finally know how to work a dryer.”

Cas’s small, satisfied smile haunts him for _hours._

Late afternoon, he’s decided to suck up to Sam for snapping at him earlier the best way he knows how: with vegetables. So he’s making one of the only things with vegetables that he eats voluntarily, and chopping up broccoli for a stir fry when he hears, “Need a hand?”

Of course it’s Cas.

His first instinct is to tell him to go away before Sam catches them together, but after remembering that Cas was starting to do this kinda thing before what happened at the hotel, he changes his mind. “Got any idea how to slice scallions?” Cas nods and reaches for a knife, taking up the space directly next to him, so close that their arms are brushing. “Whites only. Slice ‘em on an angle.”

“Yes, dear.”

Dean glances over his shoulder to make sure nobody came in to overhear that, then says, “You’re an ass.”

“I recall you liking my ass.”

Because he’s thrown off by that (and Cas ain’t wrong), all he manages is a weak, “Shut up,” before he gets back to work.

Cas finishes with the scallions before Dean does with the broccoli, and since he needs the scallions first anyway, Cas takes over for him while he adds the scallions to the bowl with the chicken. He grabs the few other ingredients he needs and lets that start sitting for the fifteen minutes it needs to marinate. He mixes the remaining cornstarch with water and sets a pot of rice on the stove to get that cooking, too.

Cas is finished with the broccoli by then, so he heats up the skillet and cooks them until they’re bright green but still crisp. “Can you grab me a plate?”

Cas gets one for him and he transfers the broccoli mixture onto that. “Chicken?” Cas asks, and Dean nods, waiting for the skillet to heat up again. Once it does, he adds more oil, and Cas dumps the bowl of marinated chicken onto it. When it’s ready, he squirts on the sauce, adds the broccoli back in with the rest of the cornstarch water, and waits for it to boil. He uses way more salt than Sam would ever let him get away with, grinning to himself when Cas doesn’t say anything, and notices with interest that Cas starts setting the table with four plates and a trivet.

Having Cas’s help tonight made cooking enjoyable instead of being sweaty and stressed from trying to do three things at once, and when Cas moves back into his orbit to wait for him to finish, he decides the decent thing to do is to mention that.

“Cooking with you doesn’t suck, you know,” he says.

“Is that so?” Cas asks, sounding amused.

“Yeah. Mom can’t cook for shit. Sam’s like a really big freaking puppy in the kitchen. Knocking shit over, trying to eat the food before it’s ready, burning his tongue and whining about it for hours afterwards. And Jack.” He chuckles dryly. “Jack might be helpful except that he never shuts his freakin’ trap. Six billion questions about where tomatoes originated and how they got to the grocery store. Like anybody fuckin’ knows that shit.”

“The Andes—or Peru, you would say now, I suppose.”

Dean doesn’t even try to hide his eye roll. “Never mind. You’re annoying after all.”

“I enjoyed cooking with you too, Dean,” Cas says, laying it on so thick he must be teasing him.

“I didn’t say I enjoyed it. I said it didn’t suck,” Dean points out.

“I know what you meant.”

Because Cas is right again, he doesn’t argue. He does start to dish out the stir fry, dumping two huge portions and two tiny ones onto the plates, smiling companionably when Cas follows behind him with the rice. The remainders go back on the stove to stay warm, and just when he thought he was gonna get away with another totally normal exchange, Cas runs his hand down his back in a not-entirely-friendly way. It’s slow, deliberate, almost in league with a caress, and it makes his stomach do something weird but sorta good.

“Thank you for cooking.”

Uncomfortable with the gratitude, he pulls a face. “You’re not even gonna eat it.”

“The sentiment still stands.”

When he lifts his head to look up from the pan, he’s suddenly very aware of Cas’s eyes on his face. And his hand still on his back. He knows it’s a rookie mistake but he can’t _not_ turn towards him when they’re this close, so he faces him and moistens his lips when Cas’s hand slides to his hip, eyes meeting and getting caught in that stupid staring thing they do.

Seriously _fuck_ those blue eyes of his and how they’re basically screaming how much Cas wants him, because it does absolutely nothing to make him want to stay away the way he knows he should.

Cas sways the tiniest little bit forward and Dean places a hand on his chest to stop him while he still can. His firm, muscular chest that he really wants to get his mouth on...

“We can’t,” he whispers, forcing his mind to stay on track.

Cas nods but doesn’t move away. “I forgot for a moment.”

“Yeah,” Dean answers breathlessly, not able to take his eyes away from Cas’s face. His scruff. Those pink lips that he knows can work magic on his now. Damn, Cas looks good today. “Not—not that I don’t want to,” Dean clarifies, finally tearing his eyes away long enough to point them towards the door meaningfully.

“That really doesn’t help,” Cas says quietly.

He should move away. He should definitely step back and put some space between them and he should really, really take his hand off of the solid mass of pectoral muscle under his palm.

“Well stop lookin’ at me like you’re thinking about ripping my clothes off and then _I_ won’t be thinkin’ of how I want you to,” he whispers hoarsely.

Cas looks up at the ceiling with a sigh before he makes eye contact again. Jesus, they’re standing close together, eye-to-eye, Cas’s hand still making the skin on his hip feel like it’s burning. “That’s much more difficult now that I know you might be interested.”

Dean gives him his most inviting smile. “Interest ain’t the problem here, angel, it’s the other two—”

“Something smells good!”

He gives Cas the non-verbal equivalent of, “I told you so,” as Sam’s voice booms down the hallway and gets a pinch on the hip before Cas’s hand slips away. He feels a swooping sense of disappointment and shakes his head at himself. He knew that was gonna happen and that’s exactly why he wouldn’t let himself get a little taste. Cas gets him way too worked up and the last thing he needs is for Sam to walk in on them when he’s wrapped around Cas.

He grabs himself a much needed beer from the fridge to take some of the edge off and sits in his usual seat next to Cas at the dinner table, shooting him a sharp look when Cas elbows him. “What?”

Cas is chewing, so he swallows and then says, “My arm slipped.”

Dean spears a piece of broccoli to go with his rice. “My fist is gonna slip on your face if you don’t cut it out.”

“He means he’s going to punch you,” Jack says to Cas, sitting down across from them.

“I caught that, thank you,” Cas replies patiently. Dean feels his face heat up a little bit when Cas presses his thigh against his under the table, and he thinks to himself how he never expected Cas to be the one who couldn’t keep his body parts to himself between the two of them.

“Humans almost never say what they actually mean,” Jack explains.

“I’m aware. I’m pretty good at understanding Sam and Dean now, though.”

“He wasn’t always,” Sam chuckles, sliding in next to Jack. “Remember when you thought prime numbers were intimidating?”

Dean can’t help but laugh, remembering clueless Cas fondly now that he doesn’t have to deal with him anymore. “I stand by that,” Cas replies, though he looks amused, too.

Sam explains the “Why is six afraid of seven?” joke to a bemused Jack, which quickly has the conversation devolving to more bad jokes. Dean sits quietly, eating his meal, drinking his beer, piping up with his own terrible jokes as they come to him and reaming Sam and Cas whenever they offer any, feeling as good as he can remember feeling in a really long time.

When they’ve finished eating, Cas suggests that since he and Dean cooked that Sam and Jack should clean up, which Sam happily agrees to. That gives Dean time to linger over a second beer, and not surprisingly, the good mood holds through that and when they get Jack down in the shooting range. Cas decides not to join them, but he, Sam, and Jack have a good time anyway, and at least this way he doesn’t have to worry about Cas being distracting or getting too close.

By the time they’re done with Jack, it’s dark out and only an hour or two before he would usually turn in for the night. Sam takes off to his room, which leaves him and Jack in the Dean Cave. He watches TV while Jack reads, but Jack only lasts a little over an hour before he goes to his room, too.

Dean changes over to the living room, half hoping Cas will come out and sit with him on the couch, and half worrying about what might happen if he does. He watches _The Princess Bride_ to try to keep his mind off of it, and when he starts to nod off, he calls it a night. After brushing his teeth and using the bathroom, he strips down to boxers and climbs into bed. He lasts all of two minutes before he has his phone in his hands and his and Cas’s text thread open, and a solid five of arguing with himself about not being so damn needy before he loses the battle and sends a text.

 **DEAN:** You up?  
**CAS:** Yes.  
**DEAN:** What r u doing?  
**CAS:** Waiting for Sam to fall asleep so I can sneak into your room.

Dean lies back in his bed with a smile on his face. He didn’t even have to ask and Cas was gonna come. He plugs his phone in to charge, turns out the lamp, and crosses his arms behind his head to wait. It takes a while and he starts to doze on and off, but the rattle of his doorknob is enough to have his eyes opening only to see Cas stepping inside and closing the door behind him again.

He slips out of his trench coat and into bed with Dean, drawing him into his arms and nice and close to his body without a word. Dean curls up on his chest, taking in the familiar and comforting scent of fresh air on Cas’s skin with his eyes closed, trying not to overthink how warm Cas’s hands are on his bare back.

He follows when Cas’s fingers tilt his chin up a little while later, and even after everything today, he feels stunned by the simplicity of it when Cas brushes his lips against his briefly and he hides his face on Cas’s shoulder afterwards.

“I’ll have to leave early. Before Sam wakes up.”

A pang in his stomach interrupts the flood of happiness that was there only a second ago. “Sorry.”

“I don’t mind, I just wanted you to know where I was if you wake up without me.”

Dean nods, already strangely comfortable in Cas’s arms and therefore extremely close to sleep.

“You don’t hafta do this every night,” he says, barely stifling a yawn.

“I know, but you have the best mattress.”

Dean huffs out a small laugh, knowing without a doubt that Cas being here has nothing to do with the damn mattress. “Night Cas.”

“Goodnight Dean.”

He’s distantly aware of a kiss to his forehead and most of the warmth leaving one side of his body a long time later, but when he chases it, he gets a fresh whiff of _Cas_ and falls back asleep moments later.

It’s not until he wakes up for good that he realizes where the scent of Cas came from.

Cas left him his trench coat.

He’s lying with his face pressed directly into the collar of Cas’s fuckin’ trench coat with his dick hard and heavy. Thankfully, the embarrassment of sleeping on Cas’s coat like some kind of love sick teenager kills most of the morning wood and he makes a mental note to tell Cas to cut this shit out in the future because he’s not _like that._

He puts his dead guy robe on and shuffles out to the kitchen for coffee, making sure to leave his bedroom door closed behind him so Sam and Jack don’t see Cas’s trench coat in his room. Cas is down to his suit jacket and looking weirdly naked with Jack sitting across from him when he reaches the kitchen. Jack’s eating some of Sam’s boring cereal with a bland look on his face, and Dean perks up when he sees there’s coffee already made.

“You were right, Cas,” Jack says. “Only off by seven minutes.”

“Another three and I would have lost,” Cas tells Jack.

Dean doesn’t know what they’re talking about, but before coffee, he doesn’t care, either. He leans against the counter for his cup, drowning out the idle chatter between Jack and Cas (mostly Jack), but sits next to Cas for his next cup. Like last night, Cas presses his thigh against Dean’s, and Dean leans into the touch without thinking about it.

“How did you sleep?” Cas asks.

Like he doesn’t already know.

“Good,” Dean answers, all too aware of Jack’s unwavering stare.

“Any nightmares?” Jack asks, and just like that, Dean’s hackles are up.

“No,” he grumbles.

“I guess Cas’s nightmare ninja skills are still keeping them away,” Jack says happily.

“It’s possible he just had a good night’s sleep,” Cas tells him. Then, more quietly, he explains, “And I don’t think Dean likes to talk about the things that keep him from sleeping.”

“Oh,” Jack says, this obviously just occuring to him for the first time. “Sorry.”

Dean waves him away as he takes another sip of his coffee.

“Hey guys, get this,” Sam says, walking into the kitchen. “Mom called with a vamp nest just past Kansas City.”

“I’m surprised she didn’t try to handle it on her own,” Cas says, which is exactly what he was thinking.

“That makes two of us,” Sam chuckles. “She was on her way to Jody’s but said it sounds like an all hands on deck situation. You guys in?”

“Just lemme shower,” Dean says.

“You haven’t had breakfast,” Cas points out.

“I’ll grab something on the way. Gimme twenty minutes and we can go.”

“I’ll go get my coat,” Cas says, standing with him.

They remain silent until they cross the threshold into his bedroom when he opens his mouth to give Cas shit for leaving his coat in his room. Nothing but a startled sound comes out though, because Cas has him slammed up against the closed bedroom door with their mouths fused together before he gets a chance.

Cas’s hands part his robe, push it down over his arms, and run greedily over his chest and shoulders while he ravages Dean’s mouth. A thick thigh works its way between his legs and he downright groans as his dick plumps up. His hands sink into Cas’s hair to pull him in even closer, opening his mouth wider and giving Cas better access to lick deep into his mouth, exhaling a low sound through his nose as he melts back against the door.

Cas responds with a low moan of his own, nudging his face to the side and kissing down his neck to find the hickey he left yesterday, sending fire through his veins as his mouth works it all over again.

“Cas,” he gasps.

“You don’t know how badly—” Cas begins, his hands moving down to cup his ass, drawing an embarrassingly genuine whimper from him. “—I want you in your bed right now.”

Dean turns his head, kissing the juncture of Cas’s jaw, chasing towards his lips until Cas meets them, tongue parting them and diving in once more as Dean ruts shamelessly against his leg.

Cas pulls away first, but Dean kisses his lips again, even as Cas starts talking. “But—”

“No buts,” Dean begs. “C’mon, angel, I know you want it too.” Dean proves his point by dragging his hand down to cup Cas’s stiff cock with his hand. Cas’s eyelids flutter closed and Dean leans in to pepper kisses to his neck, cursing the collar of his dress shirt for not having enough skin to really work with.

“You have to shower.”

“Cas,” Dean groans. “It could be days—”

“Which is why I had to kiss you before we go.”

Yeah, a kiss ain’t gonna cut it.

“Come shower with me,” Dean tries, pulling his hand away to snake it down the front of his pants instead. Cas catches his wrist before he can get to the goods, fingers like an iron cuff, and kisses the pout on Dean’s lips.

“I’d love to. I’ll just go tell Sam we’ll both be another ten minutes because we’re sharing a shower.”

“Fine,” Dean says roughly. “Stay here then. I can guarantee it won’t take ten minutes.”

Cas shoots him an amused smile, kisses him once more with his mouth closed, and Dean makes a sound of frustration against his lips, already knowing he’s lost.

Cas backs away and collects his coat off of Dean’s bed, putting it on and fixing the collar before he turns back to Dean, who’s still leaning against the door with his dick almost poking out of the front of his boxers.

“Can’t fuckin’ believe you’re gonna leave me like this,” he complains.

Cas tugs him by the hand until he moves, bends to pick up his robe for him, and presses it into his arms in a bundle. “Stay alive tonight and I’ll make it up to you.”

“C’mon Cas, you don’t gotta worry about that. I don’t die for good,” Dean smirks.

Cas’s eyes turn suddenly somber. “Even so, I mean it. Please be careful, Dean.” Caught by those blue eyes of his and the fear inside of them, all Dean can do is nod. Cas moves one step closer and drags his thumb along Dean’s full bottom lip, causing a shiver to move down his spine. “It would be a shame to miss discovering what this mouth of yours can do.”

Cas steps around him, leaving him standing there slack jawed like an idiot until he pulls the door open and walks through it.

The spell breaks almost as soon as Cas is out of his room. “You snooze you lose, asshole!” Dean calls after him, stuffing his arms into his robe and tying it closed to hide most of his boner. He’s listening for Cas to say something back even though he can’t see him anymore, but gets Jack walking by instead, stopping to glance at him questioningly.

His eyebrows furrow. “Are you and Cas fighting again?”

“No,” Dean answers, his cheeks burning. If Cas had waited another thirty seconds to leave Jack definitely would have heard them talking when he walked by. “Forget it. I gotta shower.”

He walks past Jack and almost smacks into Sam coming from the other direction, who frowns at the sight of him. “You’re not ready yet?” Sam asks.

Dean gives him the finger, pushes him into the wall on the way by, and locks the bathroom door behind him so Sam can’t get him back.

If the last half hour is any indication, it’s gonna be one hell of a day. 


	9. Chapter 9

Mom and Jack are both down. He can’t see their faces anymore because he has his back to them, trying his best to defend them while also fighting for his damn life. The blood on his mom’s head isn’t helping. It’s driving the vamp he’s trying to kill fucking wild, and every time the fucker forces him back a step the panic starts to set in a little bit more, giving him flashbacks to what happened to Sammy in the other world.

He can’t let it get past him.

Sam and Cas are both fighting off vamps of their own, because apparently even after two fucking nights of “surveillance” they still didn’t manage to count them right. His heart’s in his throat trying to fight off the vamp, keep an eye on Sam and Cas, and protect the other two passed out behind him. He hears the clatter of a machete on the cement floor and sees Sam reduced to grappling with a fucking vampire and feels his heart drop into his stomach.

 _“Dean!”_ Sam calls.

“I’m comin’ Sammy, hold on,” Dean grunts, no idea if that’s actually true but needing more than anything for Sam to just keep fighting.

With a surge of strength brought on by fear, he drives his knee into his vampire’s side hard and uses the fraction of a second advantage he gains to bring his own machete down. The vamp is still too fast though, ducking into a roll to get out of the way and popping up on the other side of him.

He dodges when the vamp lunges for him, almost tripping over Jack’s feet, and spares a glance to the side when he hears Cas growl and something heavy hit the floor. A headless vampire is standing there and Cas is already on his way to help Sam.

“Get down!” Cas yells at Sam.

He has no idea if Sam does or not because he was watching for too long and ends up with his feet kicked out from under him, landing hard on cement with a painful crack of his tailbone, his elbow feeling like it’s vibrating all the way up to his shoulder, and a hyped up vampire crawling on top of him. He still has his machete in his hand but can’t get it up and between them in time, so he has to attempt to hold the fucker off with one hand on his neck and his sore elbow locked.

The guy’s breath is fucking rancid and Dean’s grateful he can hardly breathe because he sure as shit doesn’t want that to be the last thing he smells before this vamp tears into his neck. He can already feel his arm shaking from overexertion, and he knows he’s only got another second or two—

The guy goes flying with a shout of surprise and Dean looks up at Cas, whose shoulders are heaving. He flicks his eyes over to where Cas must have thrown the vamp, seeing Sam with his machete out coming up behind the vamp who is getting to his feet where he landed. Cas moves up to approach the vamp head-on, and as Dean slowly gets up from the cold floor, he hears the sound of a machete slicing through the guy’s neck.

He lowers his machete with a tired sigh, still breathing hard and hurting fucking _everywhere_ when Cas shouts, _“DEAN!”_

He manages to turn his body halfway before he’s pummeled suddenly from behind, claws digging into his collar bone and tearing through his skin up and over his shoulder. The pain has him off kilter for a split second before it gives him a shot of adrenaline, so he uses it to grab the guy by his arm and pulls him over the shoulder that’s not currently white-hot with pain. Sam and Cas have already rushed over by the time the vamp’s back hits the floor, so he stands back while Sam lops the vamp’s head off. Cas reaches his side to help hold him up, but this time, they both spin around and do a thorough check for another vampire before Dean lowers his machete and falls to the ground.

“You’re bleeding,” Cas grits out, sounding pissed as he follows him down to pull Dean’s jacket and flannel off of his bad shoulder.

He doesn’t bother to look, knowing it’s not gonna be pretty because of how bad the pain is, and the sharp intake of Cas’s breath is more than enough confirmation for him.

Looking for a distraction, he asks, “Mom? Jack?”

“I’m fine,” he hears Jack say.

“Mom?” he asks again.

“Just knocked out,” Sam confirms from behind him. “Still breathing. No bites.”

“Thank fuck,” Dean exhales on a sound of relief, wincing when it moves his shoulder.

“Stay still,” Cas tells him, laying his hand on his shoulder.

“Wait. Mom first.”

“You are _bleeding_ _out,”_ Cas growls.

“Cas, c’mon,” Dean pleads. “I’ll be fine. Taken worse than this.”

Cas has what Dean likes to think of as his smitey face on, so he does his best to reassure him with a toothy smile, but Cas just rolls his eyes as he gets up to his feet. “Don’t move,” Cas warns him, pointing a menacing finger down at him.

He turns his head enough to watch Cas revive his mom with a quick burst of blue light, and with Sam and Jack both by her side while she sits up, he breathes easy when Cas stalks his way back over to him. Cas gets down on the floor and pulls Dean until he’s between his legs with his upper body propped up against Cas’s chest.

“Stay still. This isn’t going to be pleasant.”

He doesn’t even have time to brace himself with a deep breath before burning pain sears through his shoulder mixed with the familiar cool sensation of grace knitting his insides back together. It lasts for several minutes, and though his jaw is clenched, a myriad of grunts and groans escape him until the pain starts to peter out.

He slumps back against Cas when the grace leaves his system, not in blinding pain anymore but not entirely painless, either. He’s sweating like a damn pig, though, and lets his head loll back against Cas’s shoulder while he tries to catch his breath.

  


Sam’s worried voice cuts through everything else. “Dean? Are you okay, man?”

He forces himself to sit up, away from the comfort of being close to Cas, and rolls his bad shoulder to check for pain. “Hell of a lot better than I was.”

“My grace...” Cas starts, looking pained. Actually, he’s covered in a sheen of sweat and looking like he’s about to pass out, too. “It’s not as powerful as it used to be. After repairing the concussion Mary had I can’t—”

“‘s fine,” Dean says, meaning it. “‘s’why I wanted you to fix mom first. Don’t overdo it. We’re fine,” he repeats.

“He’ll still need first aid,” Cas says to Sam. “I couldn’t heal him completely.”

“Doesn’t look like he’s gonna keel over anymore,” Sam says, shooting them both a shaky smile. “I’d say that’s a win. You did good, Cas.”

Sam helps Dean to his feet, and Dean turns to give Cas’s shoulder a friendly pat. “Thanks buddy.”

“I’m sorry I can’t do more,” Cas replies, looking so sad it’s like he’s telling Dean he only has another day to live. “If I could...”

“Cas, seriously. I’m good.”

“Your wounds are still open,” Cas disagrees, his voice all low and grumbly.

Mary butts in with, “Maybe Jack could...?”

“No,” Dean interrupts. “He’s never gonna recharge if he heals every little scrape we get. So I’m bleeding, whoop ditty doo. We’ll patch it up once we get back to the hotel, alright? Because I gotta tell ya, I feel like I need to sleep for a fucking week.”

“Not surprised after how shitty you’ve been sleeping,” Sam points out, reminding him all too well of how he spent the last two nights tossing and turning, flitting in and out of nightmares. The thought of doing that again tonight when he’s already sore and exhausted has him close to getting choked up.

He swallows it down, clears his throat, and says, “Could really use my memory foam tonight.”

His mom wraps her arm around his waist from his good side, and says, “Then we’ll get you cleaned up and tucked into your own bed.”

“He shouldn’t be driving,” Cas announces, earning himself a dirty look from Dean.

“It’s not far. I can drive,” Sam volunteers.

“The fuck you will,” Dean argues. “I’m driving.”

“Not tonight you’re not,” Cas insists. “You’re exhausted already and it will only put more strain on your injury.”

Dean feels his face heat up and his jaw set from the way Cas is telling him what to do in front of everybody else. “Last I checked, you weren’t my mom. She is.”

Before Cas can say anything, his mom says, “If you’re going to drag me into one of your little arguments then I agree with Cas.”

“What!?” he exclaims.

“You shouldn’t be driving, sweetie,” she says softly but firmly. “Don’t be stubborn.”

He’s about to refuse when Sam says, “Let’s just get back to the motel and clean him up for now. It’s already after four so we’ll have to get some food too. Then we can see how he’s doing after that.”

“I’ll eat with you and make sure you boys still know how to do some decent stitches before I go help Jody,” Mary says, teasing lightly. “Jack, do you want to ride with me? We can stay behind and take care of these bodies while the boys get Dean cleaned up.”

“Sure!” Jack answers eagerly. “I’ve never burned a vampire before!”

“Well, you’re in for a treat,” Mary laughs. She gets up on her tippy toes to kiss Dean on his cheek, whispering quietly, “Be nice to Cas and your brother. They’re only trying to help.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says bitterly.

“I’ll see you soon,” she promises. “Come on Jack, let’s gather the heads.”

“Awesome,” Jack responds, and Dean is chuckling softly as he follows Sam out of the building with Cas hovering way too close behind him.

Fucking Cas.

“Could you let me breathe?” Dean snips, still pissed that Cas is the reason he’s currently digging the keys out of his pocket.

Cas stubbornly remains exactly in his space as they keep walking, only increasing his anger. Sam turns around for the keys, which Dean passes him with a glare aimed at Cas.

“I’ll go bring the car around for you,” Sam says, his long legs carrying him away before Dean can protest that he can walk perfectly fine.

Cas attempts to wrap his arm around his middle to support him while he waits, but he pointedly shakes him off and leans against the wall, hissing with pain when he tries to cross his arms over his chest, ultimately leaving them dangling at his sides with his hands clenched.

“You were careless tonight,” Cas says angrily.

Dean snorts out an insulated laugh. “Obviously I didn’t know there was another fucking vampire behind me or I wouldn’t have let my guard down. You think I like having claws rip through my arm?”

“I told you to be careful,” Cas says, stepping right into his face and sounding murderous.

“And I told you to let me breathe. Back off.”

“You could have died,” Cas growls at him, staying resolutely put.

Dean looks away, but gestures down to his body. “Still standing.”

“Only because you moved when I yelled your name!” Cas explodes with, bringing his attention back to him. “If you hadn’t moved to the side, _this,”_ Cas says, gesturing to his shoulder, “would have been your neck.” He lets that sit for a second, allowing Dean enough time to feel properly chastised. When he continues, his voice is as low as Dean’s ever heard it and as rough as sandpaper. “And I wouldn’t have been strong enough to—to—”

Cas whirls away with his trench coat billowing behind him, but not before Dean saw the way his eyes were watering. Finally understanding that this isn’t about him being careless or not being careful enough, Dean feels most of his anger deflate. This is about Cas knowing that he doesn’t have it in him to save him anymore.

He doesn’t get a chance to talk to him about it, though, because Sam pulls up in the Impala and Cas gets into the back seat silently. Knowing he’s in for one hell of an awkward ride back to the motel, he gets in and slumps back against the passenger seat, not able to hide a wince when his shoulder touches the leather behind him.

“All good?” Sam asks, eyeing him and Cas.

“Just peachy,” Dean says sarcastically, glaring out the window.

“Right,” Sam says quietly, leaving the three of them to drive back to the motel in silence.

He half expected Cas to head to the room he and Jack have been staying in instead of following him and Sam into theirs when they get there, but he doesn’t. With the first aid kit from the trunk in hand, he and Sam head directly into the bathroom so Sam can stitch him up. His jacket and flannel are balled up in the corner of the bathroom, he’s sitting on the closed toilet lid, and he gets his undershirt up all the way to his armpits with Cas’s gaze burning his skin when he realizes he still has a damn hickey.

Thinking on his feet, he says, “Cas, can you give me and Sam a minute here?”

Cas looks genuinely hurt but steps back further into the bedroom, and Dean gestures to Sam to close the door. Sam looks at him curiously but follows his lead, and Dean explains, “So, Cas is pretty pissed at me for something stupid I said when you were bringing the car around.”

“I figured that much out myself,” Sam says, laughing a little.

“You’re better with stitches, but maybe if I ask him to do it...”

“You think that’ll get you out of the doghouse?”

“Worth a shot, right?” Dean asks.

“Literally nobody wants to sit with the two of you bickering like an old married couple the whole way home less than me. I’ll go get him for you.”

“Give ‘em the puppy dog eyes if he says no,” Dean whispers as Sam walks out, earning himself an eye roll from his brother.

Cas comes in looking every bit as confused as he expected him to. He nods to the door and Cas closes it behind him, eyeing him even more suspiciously now.

“I assure you nothing is about to happen between us that requires a locked door,” Cas whispers tersely.

Dean tilts his head back and lets a tired laugh roll out of him. “Even I’m not that stupid, Cas.” Cas lifts his eyebrows as if to say, _Aren’t you?_ Whispering, he says, “I still have a hickey on my shoulder that’s gonna be a little hard to explain to Sam considering I haven’t left your side since you were a cat.”

“That hasn’t faded yet?” Cas asks.

“You literally bit me,” Dean reminds him.

“Take off your shirt, then,” Cas says, speaking normally now.

“Not gonna buy me a drink first?” Dean flirts.

Cas pins him with an irritated look, so to stay on his good side, Dean lets Cas pull his shirt off when he reaches for it. Then Cas’s warm fingers are prodding at his wounds carefully, but the surrounding skin is still tender and he clenches his jaw as pain shoots through him.

“It’s not as bad as I feared,” Cas admits.

“Gonna stop being pissed at me then?”

“No. You’re still infuriating and you never listen.”

Considering he knew he was going to piss Cas off eventually, he pushes down the fear he feels over fucking this up already and deflects with a sarcastic comment. “But at least I still got my pretty face, right?”

“Stop flirting with me in front of your brother,” Cas says, swiping disinfectant over his cuts and making Dean glare at him as the sting sets in.

“I’m used to it,” Sam calls from the bedroom.

“Eat me,” Dean calls back. He listens and hears gagging noises, which makes him grin.

“Stay still,” Cas tells him.

And then Cas is stitching the first and worst of four scratches, not nearly as competent as Sam would be, and Dean has to close his eyes and try to think of other things. Like Cas’s even breathing or his big hand holding his shoulder steady. His shoulder still hurts, but he knows without question that Cas is being as careful as he can be, and if Cas knew how much more he was hurting him compared to when Sam does it that he would be horrified.

So, to distract himself, he whispers, “I wasn’t trying to be uncareful, or whatever.” Cas’s blue, blue eyes flick up to his face for a single second before he gets back to work. “With the vamps.”

Cas sighs heavily, like the weight of the world is on his shoulders, making Dean’s heart ache for him a little. “I know that.”

He waits for Cas to say something more, but when he doesn’t, he asks, “You done being pissed at me then?”

“I wasn’t pissed at you.”

“Seemed pretty pissed to me,” Dean chuckles dryly.

Cas finishes up the first scratch before he responds. His words are careful. Measured. “Have you ever been aware of the inevitability of something and still dreaded it with your entire being?”

He thinks about Sam saying yes to Lucifer. Of walking up to Amara with a soul bomb strapped to his chest. Of seeing Cas with his wings burned onto the ground. Of watching Cas’s body burn period, Sam getting closer to death with every one of the trials...

“Yeah,” he answers hoarsely.

“That’s how I feel about losing you, Sam, and Mary.” There’s a long moment of a heavy silence while Cas works on wound number two. “You most of all, though. It’s incomprehensible.”

“Not like I’m somethin’ special, Cas.”

Cas lifts his eyes to his face again. “You don’t see yourself the way I do.”

“You just like my lips,” Dean whispers.

“Not just, but I do like them.” Dean feels his cheeks growing warm at the admission and regrets bringing it up. “And the idea of losing them and you... I suppose it would be fair to say I sometimes overreact when I’m forced to face the inevitability.”

“If that’s your version of an apology, I’ll take it,” Dean says.

“It was. Thank you for understanding.”

Dean stays quiet for what feels like a long time after that, wondering what the hell he’s supposed to say to follow all of that up with. He knows him and Sam and their mom are all gonna bite it eventually and Cas is gonna be left alone, so how can he make Cas feel better about that? Cas is right. It’s inevitable and it blows.

Finally, he decides on a change of subject and comments, “Slept like shit the last few nights.”

“I heard.”

Dean licks his lips, wanting to tell him that it sucked sleeping without him but too chicken shit to come right out and say it. “Got used to having you around, I guess,” he whispers.

Cas’s eyes are almost unbearably warm when they meet his. “I missed you, too, Dean.”

Dean pulls a face, embarrassed how easily Cas saw right through him. “I didn’t say that.”

“I know.”

Dean swallows, watching the unwavering concentration of Cas stitching him up. “So when we get back home tonight...?”

“I’m trying to take care of your wounds,” Cas says quietly. “You’re being very distracting.”

“Might as well gimme a little sugar then,” he drawls.

“No.”

Cas must not know him as well as he thought he did, because literally nothing makes him want something more than being told he can’t have it. “You know you wanna.”

“I told you you had to be careful.”

“Caaaas,” Dean whines.

“I don’t think this door is nearly as soundproof as you believe it to be,” Cas whispers.

Dean turns a little red at that, but he was being pretty quiet so he’s not too worried about it. “So kiss me and I’ll be good for the last scratch.”

“Behave and maybe _then_ I’ll kiss you.”

“God you’re bossy,” Dean pouts, back at normal volume again. Cas only smirks in response, making Dean’s mind go down a road he definitely shouldn’t follow right now.

Sam’s voice comes through the door, bringing him back to himself. “How’s it coming?”

“Three down, one to go,” Cas answers.

Dean finally chances a look down at his shoulder and is pleasantly surprised to see how good a job Cas is doing. “That looks way better than I expected.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Dean snorts shallowly, letting his eyes slip closed as Cas continues working. He’s not exactly sleeping (because regardless of how many times he’s had stitches, they still hurt like a son of a bitch) but he does sorta drift until he feels warmth on his face and presses up into the touch of Cas’s fingers curling around the back of his neck. Cas’s thumb sweeps along his cheekbone, drawing a soft, happy sound from his throat.

“All done,” Cas tells him quietly.

“Was I good?” Dean whispers, finally opening his eyes to Cas watching him with a soft smile on his face.

“You’ll do,” Cas replies, leaning down to brush their lips together for the first time in days.

 _God_ he’s missed this. There’s just something about how easy it is to kiss Cas, to be close to him like this, to breathe in his uniquely fresh scent. It settles something inside of him, makes everything else stop for just long enough to make him forget that he’s supposed to act like a tough guy, like he doesn’t melt like butter at the simplest touch from Cas, like he hasn’t been aching for it since they left the bunker.

He opens his mouth eagerly, desperately hoping for more, but Cas simply kisses his top lip once more before he pulls away.

“Oh come on,” Dean complains.

The amusement is visible in Cas’s eyes now. “Sam is right outside.”

“Fuck Sam,” Dean says quietly. Cas’s eyebrows lift and Dean snorts. “Shut up, you knew what I meant.”

Cas smiles then, showing teeth, and dammit if that doesn’t help twice as much as the kiss.

“They’re gonna wanna see the stitches to make sure you did it right,” Dean realizes as it comes to him. He and Cas look at each other, trying to think of a way around it. “A picture maybe?” Dean says quietly. “Put my flannel back on and tell ‘em it’s easier than moving my shirt all the time.”

Cas nods and reaches for his phone, then takes a photo of his chest and his back so his mom and Sam will be able to see. Cas passes his phone to Dean for him to check the photos, which he does with a nod. “That oughta do it.”

Cas bandages him up next, then once he’s finished that, he calls, “Are the painkillers in here, Sam?”

Dean reaches for his shirt before Sam comes in, and Cas helps him pull it and his flannel back on so he doesn’t hurt himself.

Sam opens the bathroom door slowly (probably making sure he doesn’t bean anybody with it) and walks in to fish the bottle of painkillers out of the first aid kit.

“I don’t need those,” Dean lies.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Sam scoffs. “Even if you’re gonna lie and say it doesn’t hurt, it was all inflamed and ibuprofen will help with that.”

“Sam’s right,” Cas agrees. “You should take them.”

“Fine, whatever,” Dean grumbles, holding his hand out for Sam to shake a few into his palm. Cas fills the glass cup next to the sink and Dean knocks them back with a sip of water. “Can we get my ass up off the toilet now?”

It’s only about twenty minutes after they move into the bedroom when mom and Jack come back. Jack’s enthusiasm over setting fire to the vampires hasn’t died at all after actually doing it, and none of them can keep the smiles off their faces at seeing how excited he is over it. He’ll never admit it, but his shoulder feels worlds better after taking the painkillers, and so he suggests diner food for dinner.

Since he’s the one who got hurt, nobody argues for once (at least out loud—Sam’s look of irritation probably couldn’t be wiped off his face even if he tried) and they’re all crammed into a booth at the first diner they pass on the way home. Cas makes sure he gets a corner seat so nobody hurts his shoulder, then squeezes in next to him. He lasts exactly ten seconds before his hand sneaks its way onto Cas’s thigh for that extra bit of comfort, and Cas is only a few seconds behind taking it into his.

It feels good. Nice, even. Grounding and soothing the same way petting Catstiel was, and he’s missed the connection he feels to Cas since they've been away from home. But at the same time, he’s hyper-aware that he’s holding hands with Cas in front of his entire family. They can’t see him, but he knows what he’s doing and he’s flustered enough about it that his face is beet red and so noticeable that his mom asks if he’s running a fever. Cas places his hand on his forehead, which Dean knocks away for show, but Cas declares he’s fine, which has the conversation moving along.

Cas squeezes his hand for support and he somehow manages to keep his shit together until his burger comes. He needs two hands for that, so he’s out of the woods. Or he would be if Cas would move his hand from where it’s resting on his inner thigh.

Because _that_ isn’t distracting at all.

Later, he blames the way he’s laser focused on not popping a boner sitting across from his mom for Cas being able to catch him off-guard enough to get him to agree to Sam driving home. As soon as he realizes what came out of his mouth he gives Cas the look of death, but everybody gangs up on him, telling him it’s the smart, mature decision to make and how proud they are of him for it.

Cas wisely moves his hand after that.

They all take turns hugging his mom goodbye, telling her to call them right away if she needs any help with the situation Jody’s got going on, and then they pile into the car, Dean in the almost alien passenger seat with his jaw set and anger coming off of him in damn near palpable waves.

“This is bullshit,” he complains as he buckles himself in.

“We’ll be home before you know it,” Sam says bravely.

That turns out to be a lie. It feels like some of the longest hours of his damn life as he sits uncomfortable and increasingly sore without a single thing to do but look out the window. He’s fucking exhausted but he knows without Cas closer to him that there’s a good chance he’s just going to embarrass himself with a nightmare, so he keeps himself stubbornly awake the whole way home and is (incredibly) twice as pissy when he gets there than he was when he left.

He doesn’t even bother grabbing his bag, just storms into the bunker, uses the bathroom, and strips down to his boxers to fall into bed.

His shoulder is throbbing now and he decides to reach for his bottle of whisky to numb some of the pain and help him fall asleep in case Cas doesn’t come since he made it pretty clear he was pissed at him. There’s nothing he wants more than Cas to come in here tonight and hold him while he sleeps but he didn’t say a word to Cas the whole back so he knows he probably won’t come.

That more than anything drives him to swallow a couple of mouthfuls in the darkened privacy of his bedroom when there’s a knock on the door.

Hope surges through him until he sees Sam poke his head in, who instantly frowns at Dean sitting in his room drinking straight from a bottle of whisky.

“What?” Dean says tersely, even more mad at himself for getting his hopes up for nothing.

“Wanted to check your bandages.”

“They’re fine, I just looked in the bathroom.”

“Well can I check anyway?”

“I said they’re fine,” Dean replies, taking another swig from the bottle hoping to piss Sam off enough that he leaves.

“You know, another round of painkillers would be the healthy way to deal with the pain,” Sam says.

“Not as fun though,” he says dryly.

Sam presses his lips together, visibly _done_ with his shit. “If you don’t let me or Cas look in the morning we’ll pin you down and check ourselves.”

“Good luck with that.”

Sam leaves, his frown following him and making Dean feel worse than he did before, but then again, he’s used to disappointing his brother so it isn’t exactly anything new. Even though Sam won’t know, it’s his frown that makes him put the bottle away, so he’s just lying in bed in the dark trying not to wait for Cas (but definitely waiting for him) when he falls asleep.

Not surprisingly after the day he had, it’s flashbacks of Sam getting taken out by those crazy vamps in the alternate universe in his nightmares that night. He hears Sam yelling for him, his voice getting more and more scared every time he says Dean’s name and he can’t get to him. He sees Sam’s neck ripped out, vein squirting out enough blood that he knew it was over when Sam was still standing, sees the herd of vampires dragging his bleeding body down the tunnel. Sees Cas’s face looking broken, beaten, defeated, telling him it’s too late.

“Shhh,” he hears, and he turns automatically, into the warmth surrounding him. “It’s okay. Just a dream.”

Cas is petting his fucking head, smoothing away the hair that’s stuck to his sweaty forehead, and even though a part of him is aware he’s supposed to act like this is too touchy-feely for him, he tries to roll over to bury his face on Cas’s chest, but Cas is holding him back.

“Cas?” he asks, not understanding why Cas won’t let him have what he needs.

“Your shoulder,” Cas reminds him. “You can’t roll over onto your left side.”

“Sammy?” Dean asks, still confused.

“He’s fine. He just went to bed. Whatever you saw was a nightmare.” Dean tries to roll over again, stopped once more by Cas. “Dean, wait.”

“But—”

“You want to be face-to-face?” Cas asks. Dean nods. “I’ll move then. Just please stay still so you don’t hurt yourself more.” Cas gets out from where he was behind Dean in bed and instead lies down in front of him. Dean moves backwards to give him more room, and now Cas is lying down facing him, his blue eyes shining even in the dark room. “Better?”

Dean continues to stare into his eyes, feeling himself coming back from his nightmare bit by bit now that Cas is there in front of him. “Gettin’ there. Shoulder hurts like a bitch.”

Cas rolls halfway over, coming back with two Advil in his hand. “I brought you more. Thought you might need them once the alcohol wore off.”

Cas’s voice somehow manages to get across that he’s really not happy without being judgmental.

“Sam,” Dean says, working out that he must have told him.

Cas merely looks at him, waiting for him to take the pills. “Water?”

“No, I can take ‘em dry,” Dean says, grabbing them and swallowing them down. “You pissed at me again?”

“Yes,” Cas answers, not hesitating at all. “But I’m here.”

Because that means a hell of a lot more than Cas even knows—touches on one of his worst fears and a major reason why he never tried anything with Cas before, knowing that he’s bound to fuck up badly enough that Cas bails eventually—he finally gives into the urge to pillow his head on Cas’s chest. Cas wraps his arms around him, carefully avoiding his stitches, and strokes down his back. He feels the stress of the last few days evaporate into nothing, and as his body goes lax against Cas’s, he could quite literally weep with relief if he let himself.

If he was a different guy, he might say something about how glad he is that Cas is here. How much he missed him. How much better he feels when he’s here. But although he feels all of those things when he thought he’d never feel them about anybody ever again, all he ends up saying is, “Thanks, angel.”

“Sleep, Dean. We can fight in the morning.”

After being reassured once again that Cas isn’t going anywhere, Dean sleeps dreamlessly for the first time in days, wrapped around the best friend he doesn’t deserve but is too selfish to let go.

It’s way too soon when he feels Cas rolling away from him.

“Don’t,” Dean whispers, grabbing onto his suit jacket.

He’s pretty sure Cas kisses the top of his head. Their legs are tangled together and it seems like he wrapped himself around Cas like a damn blanket in his sleep.

“Sam will be waking up soon.”

Dean grunts in response, wanting nothing more than for Cas to stay with him but knowing this is all gonna get fucked up before it can even start if Sam and Jack catch on.

“First time in my life I wished I had my own place,” he mumbles.

Cas laughs quietly and extracts himself from Dean’s octopus limbs, stopping to peck him on the lips chastely before he gets out of bed entirely. He watches as Cas picks up his coat from the back of the chair it was lying over and attempts to put it on the bed in front of him.

“We’re gonna get caught with the coat if you keep leavin’ it here,” Dean says, remembering how embarrassed he was to wake up with his face pressed into it. Cas frowns, nods, and slips his arms inside. “It helped,” Dean says, feeling like shit for making Cas look like that after he helped him again. “Just risky.”

“I understand. I hope you can get some more sleep.”

Cas listens at his door for a second, then he slinks out of his room without saying anything else.

Dean lies there for a long time trying to fall asleep but he can’t get the look on Cas’s face out of his head. He tosses and turns, curses the stinging in his shoulder, and only manages to fall asleep after he sends Cas a text with words he’s way too much of a pussy to say out loud.

 **DEAN:** Wish u were still here  
**CAS:** Me too. Go back to sleep.

So he does. 

It doesn’t last long, maybe another hour and a half, but at least he doesn’t wake from a nightmare. No, this time he wakes because his shoulder’s  _killing_ him. He rolls over with a grunt of pain and texts Cas.

 **DEAN:** Can you change my bandages before Sam gets in here?  
**CAS:** Yes. I’ll meet you in your room.

  


Dean stays where he is, flat on his back in his bed, and waits. Cas comes in a little while later with fresh bandages _and coffee,_ closing the door behind him.

“My hero,” Dean says vehemently, swinging his feet over the side of the bed to sit up. He takes the proffered mug, the soft smile from Cas, and a nice, long drink of coffee. The best thing isn’t even that Cas brought the coffee without asking, it’s that he just waits patiently for him to finish half of his cup before he expects him to talk.

“How’s your shoulder?” Cas asks.

“Hurts like a motherfucker.”

“Can I take a look?”

Dean nods with his mouth full of coffee, so Cas walks over, pulls off the old bandages, and checks out the stitches. “It’s still inflamed,” he comments, sounding less than pleased.

“Probably from sleeping on it.”

“I know for a fact you didn’t sleep on it for most of the night because I made sure of it,” Cas disagrees. “Hold still.” Dean feels grace slip inside of him at the same time he hears a low sound of disapproval from Cas. The grace swells, he winces from the increased sensation, and then just as quickly as it started, it stops. “It was infected, but it’s not anymore,” Cas explains, breathing slightly harder than before. “I’m still too drained to heal them completely but that should take care of most of the pain.”

“You know I can take a little pain, right?” Dean says, concerned by how wiped Cas looks again. “Just because I say it hurts doesn’t mean I’m askin’ you to fix it when you’re runnin’ on empty.”

“Would you like to see Sam or me suffering if you could avoid it?” Cas asks, and they both know he doesn’t need to say anything because the answer is obvious. “It’s done now anyway.”

“Feels better,” Dean admits. “Just didn’t want you goin’ back to thinking I only want you around ‘cause you help.”

Cas’s expression softens, no longer all-business and more like the guy he had to himself when they were working the case together. Then he skirts his eyes away and says, “You also want me for sex.”

Dean’s startled into a laugh, still surprised every time Cas says something like that.

“I said hold still,” Cas reminds him, trying to place a new bandage on his shoulder.

“Sorry for laughing,” Dean says, in a way that lets Cas know he’s not sorry at all. “I got no complaints about hooking up, but come on, man. It ain’t just that.”

“Oh?” Cas asks.

Dean exhales a quiet sigh, careful not to move his shoulder too much and mentally kicking himself for bringing this up. “You know I’m shit at talking about this stuff.”

“Nobody’s trying to force you to say something you don’t mean. I was just questioning what you already said. We can change the subject if you’re uncomfortable.”

“I just wanna make sure we’re on the same page. Like we did at the bar,” he says, prompting him with a memory.

“You think we’re misunderstanding each other?”

“I dunno. Maybe.”

“What about?”

“Us,” Dean says simply.

“I thought we established we care about each other, are attracted to each other, but don’t want this to get complicated.”

Cas sounds like he’s reading it out of a book. Dean ducks his head, looking at his mostly empty mug and trying to understand why he feels something uncomfortable twisting in his chest at the way Cas said that.

“You’re makin’ _uncomplicated_ sound... meaningless.”

“I apologize. It isn’t meaningless for me.”

“That’s what I’m tryin’ to say, too.” With the bandage now secure, Cas sits next to him on the bed, waiting for him to say more like he knows Dean’s still fighting to find the right words. “You’re not just some waitress I picked up to scratch an itch, y’know?” he comes out with, still looking down at his mug.

“What’s the difference?”

“You know my real name for one,” Dean says, trying to make himself feel more comfortable by using a joke. It falls flat, though, and he knows Cas can feel it too. “I dunno. There was never any of the sleeping together thing with them like we do.”

“You were often gone the whole night, Dean,” Cas disagrees.

“But not ‘cause I was sleeping,” Dean replies, shooting a grin at Cas and then sobering quickly when he sees the irritation on Cas’s face. “I, uh, couldn’t usually. Sleep.”

“Because of the nightmares.”

“Found out pretty quick chicks weren’t into it when I woke up screaming in the middle of the night,” he says with a dark laugh he doesn’t mean.

“Thankfully I’m made of tougher stuff than that,” Cas quips. Cas knocks into him playfully and then stays put with their shoulders pressed together, intentionally or not helping to put him at ease.

“Yeah,” he says with a soft smile, appreciating the hell out of Cas right now. “And, um, I guess I let you be sorta sappy with me.”

“Sappy?”

“Come on, Cas. You’re the worst for romantic shit. Touching my face, playing with my hair, kissing my head, telling me I’m breathtaking.”

Cas whirls on him, indignation written all over his face. “You told me to fuck off when I did that!”

“Yeah, but I didn’t lose your number afterwards,” Dean says pointedly. “I held your hand.”

Cas seems to consider that. “That seems difficult for you.” Dean nods, his cheeks feeling warm knowing that Cas noticed. “Not something you’re used to with waitresses?”

“Nooo,” Dean says easily. “Not since Lisa.”

He can tell that Cas understands the significance of that by how he goes quiet again. It’s more than he meant to say, so he’s just about to cut this short by saying something about grabbing a shower when Cas says, “The difference being that Lisa was your girlfriend.”

Dean’s throat is bone dry all of the sudden. The air is so full with unsaid words he could write a fucking novel with them. “Yeah,” he croaks.

“And you slept with her, figuratively and literally. Like me.”

“Yeah.” He swallows hard, scrambling for something to say to help Cas understand the two of them still aren’t like he and Lisa were. He’s already let Cas in way more than he ever did with her. The whisky bottle on his dresser gives him an idea. “Pissed her off every time I reached for a bottle after a nightmare instead of her.”

He shakes his head to clear the memory of the hurt expression on her face, then chances a look at Cas to see if he gets it.

“You don’t reach for a bottle when I’m there,” Cas seems to realize.

“Don’t need to. And it has nothing to do with using you,” he says, wanting to clarify that right away. “It was the same when you were a cat. It’s just...” He sighs, rolls his eyes for show, swallows his pride. “Being close to you feels good, okay? Because it’s you, ‘cause you’re _Cas._ It’s not complicated because it’s easy bein’ with you, not because I don’t feel anything.”

That’s more than he’s said to anybody about his _feelings_ in for fucking ever, and the silence coming from Cas is deafening.

“Dean? Just so we’re on the same page...” Cas starts.

Oh fuck. The panic is officially closing in on him. He knows exactly what’s coming because he left it wide open like an idiot. Cas is gonna follow that up with the classic, _what_ do you _feel?_ He’s gonna get backed into a corner and freak out like he always does because he isn’t gonna be able to say what Cas wants to hear and all of this trying to talk like a fuckin’ adult bullshit is going to blow up in his face.

“Would that fall under the ‘sappy’ category, or would it be considered ‘romantic shit’?” Cas finishes.

Dean feels his face burning and gets to his feet to put some space between them as a dry chuckle spills out of him. He leaves the mug on the table and snatches up his housecoat, torn between being embarrassed and proud of Cas for turning that around on him exactly the way he would’ve to somebody else. “You know what? Ha ha, very funny,” he says with a fake smile. “I hope you’re real proud of yourself.”

“Dean,” Cas says, lips twitching as he stands and approaches him. Cas’s eyes are full of laughter but affection, too, and it’s impossible not to see that Cas had good intentions even if he does feel called out. “I was trying to say what I thought would make this easiest on you, not trying to embarrass you.”

“I’m not _embarrassed,”_ he lies, heading for the door. “Just gotta cut this short before somebody wanders in here wondering why we’re sitting on my bed with me bein’ half naked.”

“For the record,” Cas says, seriously enough that he stops before he pulls the door open. “I think you were right about us having a miscommunication problem earlier, so thank you for bringing it up even though it isn’t easy to talk about.”

Dean glances back at him nervously. “We good now though?”

“I think I have a more accurate understanding of how you feel about me, yes.”

But as stoic as Cas’s words are, it’s the genuine smile on his face that has that fluttery feeling back in his chest.

Not having the balls to ask for more clarification than that, he just nods. “I’ll uh, see you around,” Dean says awkwardly, walking down the hallway feeling like he has _I LIKE CAS_ stamped on his damn forehead and completely unsure what to do with that.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be the most fun I've ever had writing a chapter, so I hope you enjoy it as much as I did!

It’s been two weeks. Two weeks of Cas sneaking into his bed every night and out again every morning when they’re not out on the road. Two weeks of holding hands on the couch and hoping they don’t get caught. Two weeks of blushing when Cas gets increasingly more sappy as each day ticks by.

“You look nice,” turns into, “I like how that shirt matches your eyes,” a few days later, and then just this morning Cas aimed a pair of heart eyes at him as he walked into the empty map room in his dead guy robe with bedhead and said, “Your beauty is truly a marvel, Dean."

He scoffs or waves away every compliment, but he knows his blush gives away how he kinda sorta _likes_ when Cas says that kind of thing about him. Nobody ever really has before. He’s gotten compliments on his appearance before, yeah, but only when somebody was trying to talk him into bed. He’s pretty sure Cas picks up on how he feels about it, too, because he starts texting him these sweet (but embarrassing) little messages every now and then on top of that.

_I missed sleeping with you last night._

_My suit jacket has started to smell like you. I enjoy it._

_I wish I could sit next to you on the drive home. I miss being close to you._

_Walking around in a t-shirt without your flannel is incredibly distracting. You're breathtaking, Dean._

Which only reminds him it’s been two weeks of stealing kisses and trying to get Cas alone for more than five minutes when he’s not half asleep. What he wants him alone for changes between needing to lose himself in one of those long, tender kisses from Cas that makes his limbs feel heavy and his chest full of warmth and the need to have Cas bruising his lips with the force of a hungry kiss. A lot of the time he doesn’t even know if he wants a quick fuck or to just curl up on the couch in Cas’s arms for an entire day trading lazy kisses and soft touches; honestly, either would be fantastic and a lot more than he gets now.

Both things are pulling at him, constant dual desires thrumming beneath his skin, and though he’s not shy about telling Cas how much he wants him when they’re locked in a heated lip lock, the only thing he can seem to do about wanting the other stuff is snuggle up to him as closely as he can get when Cas sneaks into his bed.

Thankfully, he’s lucky enough that Cas seems to get him anyway. Somehow, Cas can interpret his quiet sound of pleasure when he first feels Cas’s arms around him at night as him saying that he’s glad Cas is there. Cas knows that Dean trying to tug him back in every single time he starts to leave in the morning means he doesn’t want Cas to go. Cas understands the holes he’s started trying to poke in cases before they even start working them means he’s dreading leaving the bunker because he has to sleep without Cas. Cas sees through his hyper-masculinity bullshit and pulls him in for a long, warm hug and a kiss on the temple just as often as he kisses him senseless when they have ten seconds alone.

Cas is slowly but surely breaking down every single wall Dean’s ever managed to keep up around him, and he’s simultaneously thrilled and terrified.

Most of the time he still knows he’s gonna fuck it up. Sooner or later, either tomorrow or a year from now, he’s gonna say something or do something to remind Cas he isn’t worth all the effort he’s putting in and Cas is gonna bail. But every now and then in his weakest moments—when he’s falling asleep to the soft, gentle rhythm of Cas’s hand rubbing his back, massaging his shoulders, or cording through his hair—he wonders if Cas might really stay after all. If maybe everything they’ve already been through together should be enough of a guarantee that Cas actually _wants_ to stay with him. With mom and Sam and Jack, too, but with him  _like this._

Because truthfully, the more time they spend together as a couple (even if it is only an hour holding hands on the couch before bed) the harder it is to deny how much he was missing this specific kind of... connection. The weird thing is that he never thought he was lonely before. If anybody asked, he would’ve said he had Sam and he was fine with that, and he wouldn’t have been lying. For most of his life he was convinced Sam was all he ever needed. Then his mom came back, and he was forced into opening his eyes enough to see that he could have room for unconditional love for two people at the same time if he wanted. And all along the way, there was Cas. Cas, who had been worming his way in whether he wanted him to or not. One of the only friends he’s managed to keep (mostly) alive who hasn’t opted out of the batshit crazy chaos of their lives.

Now Cas is even more than that, and when he thinks about how easy it was to make the transition from friends to more and how much that’s filled a void he didn't even know was empty... frankly, it scares the shit out of him. In the daylight without Cas’s touch reassuring him, it’s fucking _terrifying_ because he’s pretty sure the only thing that would be worse than Cas suddenly deciding he doesn’t want to be with him anymore would be having to deal with that _after_ admitting how much he wants it.

So that keeps him from mentioning how maybe they don’t need to hide this thing between them anymore or that he might be okay with doing this for real if Cas wanted to give it a shot. He doesn’t put words to how he’s thought a few times that maybe him and Cas could just... fit. Maybe he _wants_ Cas to fit. And maybe it keeps scaring the shit out of him every time he thinks about it so he does the totally healthy thing by completely ignoring it and pretending it isn’t true.

“Is everything alright?”

Cas’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and he glances over at him, feigning innocence. “Yeah, why?”

“They just made a bathroom joke on TV and you didn’t laugh.”

Dean laughs now, at Cas instead of the TV. They’re alone for now, though Jack’s popped in a couple of times already with questions for Cas, so he settles for laying his hand on Cas’s knee instead of putting his arm around him like he wants to.

“You ever think you know me a little too well, angel?” he asks quietly.

“No. I think you’re fascinating.”

“Well,” Dean says, disagreeing with the tone of his voice. “I was just thinkin’.”

“Were you thinking about how since Sam left for a run, there’s only us and Jack in this large, empty bunker?”

Dean raises his eyebrows at that and looks over his shoulder to make sure they’re not being overheard. “No actually, but I gotta say, I like the way you think.”

Cas lowers his voice. “Where do you think we’re least likely to be interrupted?”

Heat races through his veins when he realizes Cas isn’t joking. “Fuck, seriously?”

“Unless you don’t want to?”

He laughs humorlessly. “Dude.”

“Dude?” Cas repeats, clearly judging him.

“Shut up, my brain isn’t exactly firing on all cylinders right now.”

“Should we go to your room or mine?”

“Jesus,” Dean breathes. The amount of times he’s heard that line and _Cas_ saying it has him chubbing up like a fucking teenager? “If we go to one of our rooms and Jack wants something that’s the first place he’s gonna look.”

Cas nods as he sees the common sense in that. “So what’s the last place he would look?”

Dean snorts. “Sam’s room.”

“No,” Cas says firmly.

“Come on, I was joking,” Dean laughs. “How long do you think we have?”

“Less than thirty minutes. Most likely closer to twenty.”

“Shit.” His mind whirls, trying to think of the smartest place. Library has no doors, nowhere to clean up. Shooting range is too far away. Gym doesn’t lock and reeks like old man sweat. “Laundry room?”

“Then if we _are_ interrupted we can say we were doing a load of laundry.”

“Oh, I’ve got a load for you, Cas.”

Cas grimaces. “I’m not sure that came across the way you wanted it to.”

“Shut up,” he says, embarrassed now. “Meet me in the laundry room in two minutes.”

He stands and has to adjust himself in his pants to be able to walk comfortably. He gets an assessing look from Cas, like he’s surprised he’s having this kind of effect on him.

“You’re hot,” Dean says unapologetically, taking off down the hall.

He almost wishes he had turned the timer on his phone because it’s probably two minutes _exactly_ from the second he got up off of the couch when Cas comes in, closing the door behind him.

“You think I’m physically attractive?” Cas asks, picking up the conversation as if there wasn’t just a two minute pause. Except as friendly as his tone of voice is, Cas is already pulling off his suit jacket, tossing it on the washing machine, and crowding him up against the dryer with a thigh between his legs that his still mostly hard dick is nudging against just right.

He uses the few seconds it takes him to make words to loosen Cas’s tie, and then he answers, “You didn’t get that when I was so hard I had to pull the damn car over just to get my hands on you again?”

One of Cas’s hands is stretching the collar of Dean’s undershirt, his mouth hot and eager on his skin. His reply comes out between wet kisses that already has Dean feeling weak in the knees. “You never mentioned it.”

“Well you’re hot,” Dean says again, his fingers tugging Cas’s dress shirt out from his pants so he can get his hands on bare skin. “Kinda sexy actually,” he corrects, because he’d happily live right here in the divets of Cas’s hips, stroking his soft skin pulled tight over his hip bones for the next hundred years or so. He pushes his shirt up, hands skirting underneath to run over Cas’s firm stomach and around to his lower back, groaning at the feeling of the corded muscles under his palms. “And so’s your voice and how fucking strong you are.” Cas’s teeth close over the same damn spot he put the first hickey, and Dean tosses his head back as renewed pleasure rushes through him. “Into biting?” he asks breathlessly.

“No. I’m into leaving my mark on you.”

Dean’s hips jerk forwards at the admission, rubbing his already throbbing erection against Cas’s leg as a needy sound escapes him. Cas wants to mark him, to put his claim on him, and it makes him so fucking hot his blood feels like it’s boiling. Then there’s a warm hand on the back of his neck and searing, possessive lips licking, nipping, and kissing up the line of his exposed throat until Cas pulls him in, urging his head to steady.

Their eyes lock.

“And your eyes, Cas, fuck,” he admits, laughing humorlessly as he drinks them in. “The way you look at me sometimes. Hot as hell, believe me.” Then, more seriously, he adds, “I shoulda told you. Been thinkin’ about you. A lot.”

As soon as the words have left his mouth he has no idea why he said them. It’s not something he’d say to anybody else, and right now is clearly not the time... except tenderness sneaks into Cas’s expression, and mixed with the way his eyes are already blown wide with obvious arousal, Dean’s mouth goes a little dry just looking at him. He feels a thrill of his own possessiveness knowing for a fact that Cas has never looked at anybody but him like this because there’s no way he ever had _this_ with Meg or April.

It pushes him to prompt, “You’ve been thinkin’ about me too.”

“Yes.” He’s pretty sure his heart stops when Cas’s index finger traces along the seam of his mouth. “Your lips,” Cas says, in that low, low voice of his. “Believe _me._ You tempt me every minute of every day, Dean.”

Dean brings his hands down to Cas’s belt and nudges his neck up to mouth under his chin as he unbuckles it, feeding on the moan that draws from Cas like he’s a man starving. “Wait until you see what I can do with it,” Dean taunts him.

Cas strikes like a snake. One second Cas is standing there seemingly completely cool and collected, and the next, Cas’s fingers catch in the longer hair at the top of his head to tug him down and their lips are crashing together almost violently. Their tongues meet in the middle, hands working between them to get as many necessary articles of clothing off as quickly as possible. He loses his flannel, Cas wrenches his undershirt up and away, and as his now bare chest rubs against Cas’s dress shirt, arousal hums through him like electricity.

“You like my strength?” Cas asks against his lips.

Dean only hums an affirmation into his mouth, absolutely refusing to break the seal of their lips now that he can finally lose himself in another kiss with Cas. _Fuck_ the way Cas kisses him. So uninhibited, like it’s totally normal to just force him into whatever position Cas wants him in just so he can get exactly what he needs out of each and every kiss. He goes with it, though, hungry for the way Cas manhandles him and quiets the part of his brain that would normally protest. He yields to him instead, grants his tongue entry every time he prods, takes more of his weight when Cas presses against him harder, digs his nails into Cas’s skin when the hot length of Cas’s cock nudges his groin, never once breaking how their mouths are fused together. When his lips feel tacky with their combined spit, he gets his hands on Cas’s dress shirt and pulls, fabric tearing and buttons falling to bounce on the floor.

Cas pulls away, his lips swollen and shiny, looking down at his shirt with mild horror written all over his face. “Was that really necessary?”

Dean just smirks as an idea comes to him. “You tell me.”

He spins them around so Cas is the one with his back to the dryer and lowers his mouth to Cas’s skin. He starts at his neck—really dragging it out and zeroing in on one spot just above his left clavicle that has Cas gasping his name while he ruthlessly works on it—and kisses a trail all the way down his chest, stopping to graze his nipple with his teeth and continuing to nip and kiss down his torso until he’s nuzzling into his belly button. Now in a crouch, he finishes with Cas’s belt and works on his fly, mouthing over his hips and giving into the urge to suck a bruise of his own into one of them until he can slip his fingers under the elastic band of Cas’s boxer shorts.

As his knees hit the floor, he peeks up through his eyelashes at Cas staring down at him with his shirt ripped and parted revealing his golden skin, his mouth hanging open, and his shoulders heaving. Traveling further down shows him a trail of hair that disappears into his boxer shorts where Cas’s cock is currently tenting them, decorated with several wet spots revealing just how turned on he is.

Pulled in like a magnet, he leans forwards to close his mouth over the shape of Cas’s shaft through the fabric. He mouths along Cas’s length, breathing in the manly scent of arousal and feeling it shoot like lightning directly to his cock, unable to stop a moan from drifting up and out if his life depended on it.

And that’s when _he_ snaps. He needs this _now—_ fucking _yesterday._ His hands are shaking with anticipation when he struggles to pull the elastic waistband out and down, freeing Cas’s substantial erection. _Shit,_ he’s big. Longer than himself, for sure, and now that he’s up close and personal with it, he’s fucking floored by his girth.

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean breathes. “Just look at you.”

And then he’s taking hold of his cock by the base and sucking the glistening tip between his lips. Cas makes a surprised-sounding, _“Ugh,”_ and Dean has to shimmy forwards when Cas’s knees give a little bit and he leans back against the dryer. Trying to get used to just how thick he is in his mouth, he swirls his tongue around the head and pulls up to swipe it across the leaking slit, humming his appreciation for the slightly salty bitter taste of his precum.

 _“Dean,”_ Cas wheezes. “This is—this is very overwhelming.”

Must’ve never had a blow job before, Dean realizes. He pulls off entirely to glance up at him, licking the excess moisture off from his lips. “First time?” he checks.

“Yes,” Cas answers, not a shred of embarrassment to be found.

“Is it too much?” Cas hesitates, but shakes his head _no,_ his eyes glued to Dean's lips. “Just relax then, buddy. I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

Cas nods minutely, and he gets right back down to business. Not wanting to overwhelm him too much, he takes it a little more slowly this time. He starts at the base and leaves soft, open-mouthed kisses towards the tip, suckling gently on the tiny ridge where the head meets the shaft and smirking when Cas makes an indistinguishable sound of pleasure. Finding a weakness means he sets up camp right there, laving his tongue over that one spot, sealing his lips over it and sucking gently at first and then harder, all while fondling Cas’s heavy balls with his free hand.

It’s only when he notices Cas’s cock is steadily leaking that he changes it up. He inches his way back to the tip, using his tongue to slurp up the mess Cas has made as eagerly as he drinks down every startled, hitched breath. Then, unable to resist another second, he wraps his lips around Cas’s thick cock and gradually sinks down along his length. The sensation of his lips pulling tight around his girth, the heavy weight of Cas’s cock sliding along his tongue, and the almost-forgotten stretch of his jaw as he takes more and more into his mouth has his own cock throbbing with want.

 _Fuck_ Cas is thick, and he can’t take in as much as he’d like to, but what he can fit is fucking perfect, and he moans with his mouth full when he feels Cas’s cockhead nudge the back of his throat. Some depraved part of him has missed this, missed reducing a big, strong man to a mess of moans and trembling thighs with only his mouth. He applies suction on the way up and starts working his hand up to follow his mouth, smearing his saliva mixed with Cas’s precum along his shaft so he can start stroking him in time with his mouth.

 _“Dean!”_ Cas cries as he swallows him down again, starting to bob his head as he builds up a comfortable tempo. _“Oh._ Oh Dean. _Ohhhh.”_

It only spurs him on, driving him to perform better, pulling out all the tricks and getting increasingly turned on at Cas losing his cool one second at a time. He tries not to think about how desperately he wants Cas’s cock buried between his ass cheeks, splitting him open and filling him unlike anything he’s ever known, Cas's significant strength holding him down and driving this fat cock deep inside of him over and over. But then Cas suddenly swells impossibly bigger between the tight seal of his lips, and since that’s a warning he knows well, he flicks his eyes up to find Cas’s gaze trained on him. He makes a bit of a show out of fluttering his eyelashes and sucking hard on his way back up, pulling off of Cas’s cock with a wet _pop._

Because Cas is watching him so intently and he wants to draw this out for his own pleasure and to make this unbelievable for Cas, he closes his mouth and drags Cas’s wet cock across his lips and over to his cheek, letting the wetness smear across his freckles.

Cas has fire blazing in his eyes as he watches him, and again, it lights something up inside of him, makes him want Cas to feel better than he’s ever felt before. He turns his head, messily kissing and licking at Cas’s cock as he rubs it along his face and pumps it in his hand, humming his own pleasure at every little sound he earns from Cas.

“Dean.” This time it comes out as something like a plea or a warning—a clear indication that Cas is tired of him teasing him like this and it’s time to move on. Dean only licks his lips to make them glisten and keeps going, brushing his mouth over a new watery bead of precum he squeezes out of the tip and puckering his lips in the most seductive way he knows how.

Cas growls, and the next thing he knows, Cas’s big hand is cupping his face and his fingers are forcing his mouth open a split second before Cas pushes the head of his thick cock between his lips.

Dean lets his eyelids slip shut and his moans to come out nice and loud, wanting Cas to know he should go ahead and take what he wants from him. He makes his jaw go slack, raises his hands to pull down the back of Cas’s boxers and gets himself two hands full of supple ass to hold onto.

He moans again after the first careful thrust of Cas’s cock into his mouth, once more giving Cas permission to take him how he wants him, and rolls his eyes up into his head with unprecedented pleasure when Cas starts up a steady rhythm of fucking his mouth and chanting his name. He sucks every time Cas pulls out, flicks the tip of his cock with his tongue, massages his asscheeks and just takes everything Cas wants to give him, feeling powerful and sexy and free.

It’s only a few sturdy thrusts before Cas’s rhythm falters, his hips stutter, his voice breaks. “Dean—oh, _Dean,_ I’m—I’m going to—”

Cas tries to pull out entirely, but Dean chases after him, craving the bitter taste and hot, salty fluid filling his mouth with the undeniable proof of a good blow job. Cas was closer than he thought though, because he can’t even get his lips around him before the first hot rope of cum hits his chin and starts sliding down his face.

His cock jerks, but he only has time to register a rough, gritty, scorching hot sounding, _“Fuck,”_ from Cas before he feels a strong surge of grace and the single light bulb in the laundry room shatters with a loud _bang._ Dean swallows down Cas’s spasming cock and each load of cum that spills from him with a satisfied _mmmm_ and goosebumps climbing up his spine _,_ suckling at the tip for more until Cas is completely dry and slowly beginning to soften.

Still, he keeps going, relishing every little noise he gets from Cas, nursing his cock and teasing his slit with the tip of his tongue until Cas is whimpering with over-stimulation. Only then does he let Cas’s dick fall from his mouth, grasping the edge of the dryer for help to get his sore knees and shaky legs to support his weight. He’s still got a glob of cum on his face, which he wipes off with Cas’s shirt as he holds his gaze, and then he takes in the sight of Cas leaning back against the dryer looking like he’s about to slide bonelessly to the floor any second now.

Inexplicably, he feels warmth bloom inside of him, and now it’s him who’s moving in on Cas, framing his face with his hands and swishing his thumbs over Cas’s high, flushed cheekbones before he leans in to steal a kiss. It’s weirdly soft considering Cas was just fucking his face a minute ago, but he parts Cas’s lips with a gentle probe of his tongue and licks his way inside, something sweet and tender spreading through him as their mouths move together like a well oiled machine.

For the first time he can remember with a partner, slowing it down to kiss Cas through his obvious lightheadedness does nothing to kill his own arousal. He’s no less attracted to Cas now as his hands move back into his hair and Cas pets down his spine as he was when he was riding Cas in the Impala. In fact, he steps slightly to the side so he can rub himself up against the crease of Cas’s thigh, and even though it’s a little dry, he wouldn’t trade the way Cas is kissing him so thoroughly and caressing his skin so softly for anything else. Heat boils inside of him, pooling low in his groin and proving this is exactly what he needed. Hot, hard sex is always good no matter where he can get it, but it’s been a really, really long time since he’s been close enough with anybody to let it mean more, and this now with Cas—especially after the last few weeks—means so, so much more.

When Cas breaks their kiss only to press soft kisses to each of his cheeks, then to his forehead, his shoulder, and right behind his ear, his orgasm starts creeping up alarmingly fast. Even though Cas doesn’t say a word, it’s impossible not to hear what he isn’t saying, words Cas has already said that made him blush but that he carries with him in his pocket and rereads whenever they’re apart.

_You’re breathtaking._

_I care about you._

_I like being close to you._

When he would usually run from intimacy like this, with Cas he yearns for it. He _wants_ to hear the words that so obviously go with every kiss, every touch, even knowing he doesn’t deserve them and will never ask for them. He keeps rocking his hips against Cas, pulling him in closer and baring his neck when Cas’s lips work their way there, petting through Cas’s hair and feeling like his lungs are burning as he gets closer and closer to something a hell of a lot bigger than release.

“Cas,” he breathes, struggling to speak through how thick his throat suddenly feels. “‘m close, sweetheart.”

The endearment slipped out, was forced out by the sheer amount of feelings he’s attempting to keep locked up. “Dean,” Cas sighs happily, angling Dean’s face back down to look him in the eye. “You’re so beautiful. Inside and out.”

He flushes violently as Cas brings their lips back together, but for a split second he believes him _—feels_ beautiful inside and out—and then he’s panting uselessly against Cas’s mouth as pleasure rips through him like an electric shock. He comes with a quiet sound muffled by Cas’s lips, his fingers curled into Cas’s hair, his whole body rigid, and Cas’s arms holding him so fucking close. He feels light as a feather, damn near floating with all of the _good_ he’s feeling when he starts kissing Cas back. The low, pleased sound from Cas only has him climbing higher, wishing he could curl up on Cas’s chest in bed and fall into an orgasm-induced nap with Cas’s fingers dancing softly along his bare skin and sickeningly sweet words whispered into his ear.

Longing unlike anything he’s ever known plows into him, and he buries his face in the crook of Cas’s neck while he tries desperately to keep his shit together, wrecked from realizing just how bad he wants to have Cas exactly like that for as long as he can.

“I’m here,” Cas whispers quietly. “I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.”

“You swear?” Dean asks before he can convince himself not to.

“Not until you want me to,” Cas promises, and with his face pressed into Cas’s neck, Dean lets himself believe it for a solid minute while Cas reassures him by rubbing his back and leaving kisses on his temple and the top of his head.

Cas wants him. Maybe for good. He wants to stay. Cas thinks he’s beautiful inside and out. All of it feels so fucking _good_ that the fear that comes right after is almost paralyzing.

His face is burning in part because he’s secretly wanted this so long he can hardly believe it’s really happening to him, but also because of the worst part of himself is starting to come back to life, reminding him the deeper he lets Cas in the harder it’s gonna hurt if it doesn’t last.

“You’ve come to mean so much to me,” Cas confesses, once again in a low whisper that he can feel against his ear. “I didn’t know it could be like this.”

He feels hope surround him like he’s sinking into a hot bath, lets it wrap around him and keep him warm, but he also tells himself Cas is probably talking about the sex stuff (like his first blow job) and not the feelings Dean refuses to put into words even in his own head.

He swallows the lump in his throat that causes and takes a steadying breath, knowing he’s already indulged in a chick flick moment for way longer than he should have, and he lifts his head, pulling his arms free of Cas. He can feel Cas’s penetrating gaze on him, so he looks down while he busies himself with rearranging his now softening cock comfortably inside his boxer briefs and doing up his jeans, already planning to go change into a fresh pair in the next five minutes. He starts thinking about how Cas tried to fuck fast and dirty and it was _him_ that turned this around and Cas probably doesn’t even want him like that...

But one of Cas’s fingers curls under his chin and nudges it up where Dean’s helpless to see anything but him.

The only thing Cas says is, “Please don’t shut me out.”

Those words said by almost anybody else (or even by Cas at the wrong time) would have his hackles up, his jaw setting, and him storming out of the room. But he searches Cas’s eyes and doesn’t find judgement or disappointment or anger there, only patience and understanding. Like maybe Cas knows how hard all of this is for him and he’s willing to wait. Cas isn’t afraid to push either though, and maybe _that’s_ what he needs, because he swallows a second time and nods, feeling his shoulders relax as some of the urge to present as a tough guy disappears.

“Trying,” Dean admits, his voice cracking on the single word.

He gets a soft smile for that and a quick kiss from Cas that has his stomach swooping and his arms wrapping right back around his neck for more; more of this joy and ease and the fluttery feeling to drown out the bad, the doubts. He’s so fucking thankful that he’s here with _Cas_ outta anybody in the whole damn world, and as he sinks into another heart melting kiss, he has the wild thought that he never wants to—

“Are you guys kissing?” comes from behind him.

He freezes, his lips only millimeters away from Cas’s. His arms are wrapped around Cas while he’s half naked and Cas’s pants are still down around his ankles. _Shit, shit, shit._ How the fuck are they gonna talk their way out of this one?

“Hello, Jack,” Cas says calmly. He steps away from Dean, toes his dress shoes off, and slips the rest of the way out of his slacks. “We were just doing laundry.” Dean crosses his arms over his chest, feeling way too naked with Jack standing there looking at the two of them with his head cocked to the side. “My pants and Dean’s shirt both got dirty, so we need to wash them,” he says, offering a tiny reassuring smile before he turns to open the lid of the washing machine.

“You weren’t kissing?” Jack checks.

“We’re doing laundry,” Cas repeats, picking up the clothes that are discarded all over the room and stuffing them in the washing machine as if to prove his point. “Did you need something?”

“Yeah,” Jack says, still sounding confused but apparently willing to go with it. “Can you put Nutella on waffles?”

Dean says, “Yeah,” at the same time Cas says, “No.”

Dean looks at Cas, genuinely confused. “You can too. It’s fuckin’ good.”

“That’s too much sugar all at once,” Cas argues.

Dean scoffs and looks back at Jack. “You only live once, kid. Go nuts.”

“Thanks Dean,” Jack says with a wide smile. He gets halfway through the door before he stops to say, “The light bulb is broken in here, by the way. In case you didn’t notice.”

Dean has to turn away to hide his smile but Cas replies, “Thank you, Jack,” and then Dean’s free to let his laugh out once the door closes behind him. What a freaking kid.

“We came in here specifically to fool around and you didn’t lock the freakin' door?” Dean asks amid his laughter.

“I wasn’t exactly thinking about the door, Dean. Not with knowing you were waiting here for me with an erection.”

Another snort of laughter escapes him. “Please don’t ever say erection again.”

Cas narrows his eyes, somehow managing to look menacing even while wearing a ripped shirt and old man boxer shorts. “What would you have me call it then?”

“A boner, a chubby, a stiffy, sporting wood, pitching a tent...”

“Thank you,” Cas says dryly.

“Anytime,” Dean replies, grinning overly wide. “Can I have my shirts back now?”

“You don’t want to wash them?”

“What needs washing is my boxers,” Dean says. “I gotta go change outta these before it gets any worse but I think walking through the bunker half naked is gonna raise some eyebrows.”

“I understand,” Cas says with a nod, handing his shirts back to him. He pulls them on and glances up at the light on his way out.

“Can you fix that?” he asks.

“I can give it a shot,” Cas says, eyeing it curiously.

“Let me know if you need a hand.”

“Dean?” Cas asks, making him turn back again. “Thank you for trying. Before.”

It’s a pointed reminder of what they were talking about before they were interrupted, and a blush starts creeping across his cheeks again. “Don’t know why, but it ain’t that hard with you.”

He gets a shy smile from Cas that makes him smile in response, and then he finally leaves to change out of the mess in his pants. While he cleans himself up, he chuckles over how lucky they were it was Jack who caught them and that he’s new enough to pretty much everything that he doesn’t know you don’t do laundry half naked and attached to another guy’s lips.

Not wanting anything to look too suspicious, he puts on jeans that are almost identical to the last ones he just stuffed in the bottom of his hamper, and heads right back to the couch he and Cas were watching TV on earlier.

Sam’s back, covered in sweat with his hair in a stupid man bun that makes Dean want to take a pair of scissors to his hair every time he sees it, standing behind Cas and Jack who are sitting on the couch. He’s not surprised to see Jack with the last wedge of a waffle on a plate balancing on his lap.

Sam must have seen the look he gave him, because he asks, “What?”

He takes his seat on the couch next to Cas as usual. “Was just thinkin’ we should find you a nice tutu to go with your hair, Mr. Ballerina.”

“Sorry for being comfortable enough with my masculinity to wear my hair in a traditionally female style. Not all of us have to pretend to be hyper masculine all the time to look cool,” Sam says with a smug smile Dean wants to punch off his face.

“Dean’s not always hyper masculine,” Jack pipes up with. “He was just doing laundry with Cas five minutes ago.” Dean feels his stomach drop, literally praying to Chuck that the kid doesn’t say anything else. “That’s traditionally a female role, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, Sam,” Dean says quickly, taking advantage of the fact that Sam is guzzling down water to share a quick look with Cas. Cas holds his gaze steadily, silently telling him not to panic.

“And he was perfectly fine being half naked in the laundry room with Cas, too.”

Sam does a spit take. Water sprays all over them in a cloud of mist like a bad movie, and Dean’s making a sound of disgust and wiping it off the back of his neck while trying desperately to think of a way to get out of this.

“Dean and Cas were _what?”_ Sam gasps, looking directly at Jack.

“Jack, could you come with me?” Cas tries.

“Oh no no no no no,” Sam says quickly, his face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. He walks around the couch to stand in front of them all. “I wanna hear more about how you two were half naked in the laundry room first.”

“That’s kinda gross, Sam. I’m your brother,” Dean says, trying just about anything to delay this conversation.

Sam throws him a bitch face that clearly says Dean can try all he wants but he is not giving up on this. “What were you two doing in there?”

“Laundry,” Cas says, and if he wasn’t about to be outed in front of his brother for the first time at forty years old, he would laugh at how stubbornly Cas is sticking to the laundry cover story.

“Funny, I’ve never done laundry half naked with another guy,” Sam says.

“You should give it a shot sometime. Really relaxing, right Cas?” Dean quips, hoping false bravado might work.

Cas only blinks at him, clearly confused over whether he should respond truthfully or not. “I don’t mind doing laundry with Dean,” Cas finally answers, and Dean makes himself laugh even though he feels like his face is on fucking fire.

“Seriously?” Sam gapes. “You’re just not gonna answer me?”

“Got nothin’ more to say,” Dean responds, resolutely looking past Sam at the TV even though he has no idea what show is even on at this point.

“What were they doing half naked, Jack?” Sam asks.

“Laundry,” Jack answers slowly. Then Jack looks at Cas with a line of confusion between his eyebrows. “Didn’t you already say that?”

“You don’t need to be half naked to do laundry!” Sam insists.

“They were washing the clothes they were wearing—wait a second. Dean, wasn’t that the shirt Cas was putting in the washing machine?”

“I have two just like it,” Dean lies.

“Oh. That makes sense,” Jack responds, cutting a piece of his waffle and stuffing it into his mouth.

 _“No it doesn’t!”_ Sam explodes with. “I’ll bet you the biggest jar of Nutella you can buy that if you go in the laundry room right now there won’t be a load in the washing machine at all.”

“So you weren’t doing laundry?” Jack asks Cas. Cas chooses not to say anything, his eyes starting to look sad when it becomes clear that Jack is hurt by that. “Why would you lie?”

“Something’s going on with you two,” Sam says, pointing two fingers at Cas and Dean. “Cas hasn’t been in his room at night for weeks, and even though I haven’t caught him coming out of your room yet I know that’s where he’s been. I’m not stupid.”

“Well maybe your man bun’s workin’ as some kinda antenna and lettin’ all the crazy in,” Dean says with a sideways grin. The way Sam looks like he’s about to pull his hair out shouldn’t be nearly as fun as it is considering the circumstances but he’s enjoying the hell out of it nonetheless.

“What’s the big deal anyway?” Sam asks, suddenly serious. “Why won’t you just tell me?” Dean doesn’t say anything, just huffs out a wordless laugh while his brain keeps going double time trying to come up with something. “You think I care if you like Cas? Like a guy? I’ve known about you and guys since high school, Dean. You’re not as smooth as you think you are.”

“You’re attracted to guys too?” Jack asks.

“Jack, now is not a good time,” Cas says quietly.

“Now’s _a great_ time,” Sam disagrees. He looks directly at Dean and says, “You’re gonna sit here and lie to both of us about this when all we wanna do is support you?”

“Maybe I don’t want your _support,_ okay?” Dean bites out.

Sam looks like he just slapped him in the face. “Why not?” he asks sadly. “Why won’t you talk to me?”

Those puppy dog eyes have always been the death of him, and even now when he wants nothing more than to tell his brother to mind his own fucking business, his anger deflates like a balloon.

“For the first time in—forever—” He says quietly, stopping to look away when he realizes that’s sad but true. “I’m... I’m freaking _happy,_ okay? Something’s actually goin’ right for me for once. Can we just leave it alone so I don’t fuck it up?” He finds the courage to look up at Sam, who looks relieved but still hurt. “It ain’t you, Sammy, or Jack or even Cas.”

It occurs to him then that he just basically outed Cas and whatever they have going on without meaning to, and he glances over at him with an apology already on the tip of his tongue, but Cas is smiling. One of those rare gummy smiles that does something to his insides he’d still rather not think about, and his lips curve up automatically when he understands that Cas is happy that it’s kinda sorta out there. He looks back at Sam feeling a lot more calm now than he did a second ago. “I just need to keep this close to the vest right now. For _me._ Can we do that?”

Sam runs his hand through his hair, scrunching his stupid man bun and looking both confused and exasperated. “So what? You want me and Jack to pretend we don’t know?”

“Technically I haven’t admitted to anything, so you don’t know shit,” Dean says with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

Sam huffs and rolls his eyes, but says, “Fine. You and Cas were doing laundry half naked this afternoon but that’s totally normal and not gay at all,” Sam says, clearly placating them. Then he looks at Cas and says, “But you can stop sneaking in and out of his room at night. I won’t say anything or ask any questions if you wanna sleep in there and... well... basically me and Jack will just forget this whole conversation ever happened as long as you keep him happy.” Sam nods and points at Dean, looking right at him even though he’s still talking to Cas, before he adds, “Because nobody deserves it more than him.”

Dean _definitely_ doesn’t get a little choked up by that, but he does need to look down at his lap for a few seconds so he doesn’t embarrass himself.

“Thank you, Sam,” Cas says earnestly.

Then Jack chimes in again. “Hey Dean?”

“Yeah?” he answers tiredly, already anticipating something awkward.

“Can we play Mouse Trap?”

Dean chuckles at the unexpected question and nods, trying to hide the way he has to sniffle to stop his nose from running. “Sure, kid. Let’s go.”

 _“After_ you rinse your plate and put it in the sink,” Cas reminds Jack.

Jack hops up to go do that, leaving him, Sam, and Cas in five seconds of awkward silence before Sam says, “I’m gonna go grab a shower.” Sam gives both his and Cas’s shoulders a squeeze on the way by, and Dean turns to face Cas as soon as they’re alone.

“Fuck, I blew it, Cas. I just basically told them about us without even asking if you were okay with it first like an _idiot_ and I am so, so—”

“I make you happy?” Cas interrupts.

Dean stops mid-apology, knocked off-kilter by the question. As much as he hates admitting to it out loud for a second time, he can’t deny it. Not to Cas when he’s been nothing but patient and understanding with him this whole time. He shrugs to take out some of the sappiness, but admits, “Yeah.”

Cas smiles then, his lips pressing into a tight line but his eyes glistening with his own happiness for a few seconds, making Dean wonder how the hell he got lucky enough that somebody _like Cas_ cares enough about him to be freakin’ emotional that he’s happy, before he blinks it away. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Yeah,” Dean says awkwardly. “You uh, okay with just keepin’ things the same? With you and me?”

“No.” Dean’s heart sinks like a stone. _Here we go._ “I want to stay in your bed until you wake up. No more sneaking out early like Sam said, if that’s okay with you?”

“Jesus, you scared the life outta me for a second there,” Dean admits. He looks over his shoulder to make sure nobody’s coming, and leans in to drop his forehead against Cas’s temple, seeking another moment of closeness... and also so he doesn’t have to look at him when he says this. Cas holds his hand, the touch grounding him as it usually does, which prompts a steadying breath. “Nothin’ I want more than that, angel.”

“I like when you call me that,” Cas confesses shyly.

“I like _you,”_ slips out in response.

As he hears those words come out of his own mouth, he feels like his heart starts beating so fast it might burst right out of his chest. He didn’t mean to say that. Didn’t mean to be cheesy like that and now it’s just _out there_ and he can’t take it back and pretend he just wanted sex no matter what happens and—

Cas kisses him. Quick but firmly enough to derail his spiraling thoughts. “I already knew that, but it was nice to hear you say it. I like you, too.”

“I already knew that,” Dean says back, childishly mocking him.

“Well, it comes and goes anyway,” Cas says dryly.

Just like that, they’re back to the bickering Dean and Cas that they’re both comfortable with, and surprisingly, it turns out the day they got caught half naked in the laundry room ends up being one of the best days in his life.


	11. Chapter 11

Things change after that night. Whatever unspoken emotional _thing_ happened between them in the laundry room three weeks ago has made them closer than ever, and having Cas in his bed every night and every morning has added a level of domesticity and security to their relationship that he didn’t even know he wanted. Combined with not worrying so much about getting caught now that Sam and Jack already kinda sorta know means he’s finally just enjoying being with Cas in every way he can be. There’s no pressure because Cas is a freaking saint and willing to go along with whatever Dean wants for now, and he knows Sam and Jack don’t care.

He has to give Sam credit, actually, because when he thought Sam would still try to corner him to get him to talk about everything even though he said he wouldn’t, he actually doesn't. What Sam does is even better, and so unexpected he didn’t even catch on at first.

Sam and Jack just left to go out... somewhere. To be honest, he stopped listening once Sam said they were leaving because the only thing he could think about was getting his hands on Cas. Cas has been sitting back—almost slouching—with his legs spread wide, down to his suit jacket as is usual now, with his tie loosened and his hair fucked from a quick makeout session that was cut short less than a half hour ago, and Dean’s been failing to fight off a semi ever since.

The air between him and Cas has been charging from the second Sam and Jack got up and walked away from the map table, and the insistent staring is only making it worse. Which is why the _moment_ the bunker door shuts with a heavy clang he is up, out of his seat, and climbing into Cas’s lap to crash their lips together.

Cas dives in hungrily with a low moan of pleasure and Dean can almost feel it zing straight to his already semi-hard cock. God he wants Cas. Always wants Cas so fucking bad and not being able to jump his bones whenever he has the urge only makes it worse and way more intense when he finally gets the chance.

His hands are already working on getting Cas’s tie off completely and his shirt unbuttoned, but Cas’s hands on his ass through the thin fabric of his lounge pants isn’t helping him move any faster. Finally, he gets Cas’s tie off and the first few buttons open, which means he can tear away from Cas’s mouth to seal his lips to that spot on Cas’s neck that drives him crazy.

Sure enough, he gets his first wrecked sounding, _“Dean,”_ from Cas for that, and he goes pliant when Cas’s big hands urge him down in his lap so that his ass is pressed against the hard line of Cas’s erection.

Dean makes a sound of pleasure against Cas’s skin, opening his mouth and dragging the tip of his tongue down the cord of his neck, only making Cas thrust up against him to seek friction.

He follows Cas’s neck down to his collarbone, across his chest to the other side, kisses up the line of his throat and nips along the slight stubble covering his jaw, reveling in the rough drag of it along his lips. He’s so attracted to Cas and his careless masculinity it’s _insane._

“So fuckin’ hot, Cas,” Dean murmurs between kisses. “Want you—” Cas’s hands slip down his pants and get two firm handfuls of his bare ass, a split second of pleasure so sharp he can’t form words through it at first. “—so bad. All the time.”

“Dean,” Cas breathes, one hand skirting up along his back to cup the back of his neck. He feels slight pressure to the side of his face and turns into it, knowing Cas wants another kiss and more than willing to oblige him. “Same here. Always.” He feels himself melt slightly and locks their lips together, pushing Cas’s coat and dress shirt off of his body. He takes advantage of Cas’s bare skin to run his hands over the hard muscles of his biceps and shoulders, feeling arousal swirl low in his stomach like a tornado and failing to keep a needy sound entirely buried.

The sound seems to ignite Cas, because the next thing he knows, Cas gets a firm hold under the backs of his thighs and he’s pushing to his feet. Dean wraps his arms and legs around Cas instinctively, his blood boiling with how unbelievably hot it is knowing that Cas can lift him without breaking a sweat. His fingers are digging into Cas’s skin, scratching down his back, and his mouth breaks the seal of their kiss only so he can sink his teeth into the meat of Cas’s shoulder, everything so fucking _hot_ he feels like he might burst into flame.

He’s barely in Cas’s arms for five seconds before he’s lowered down onto the edge of the map table. Cas’s hands are pulling at the elastic band of his pants, so he lifts his hips, letting Cas pull them off entirely before his bare ass hits the cool plastic top of the table.

Their lips come together again after a sharp intake of breath from Dean. Cas’s warm hands push up under his Henley to roam his back while he opens Cas’s pants and pushes his boxers down, freeing his leaking erection. Cas hasn’t even stepped out of his pants when Dean has his legs wrapped around his waist again and their cocks trapped between them.

 _“Fuck,”_ Dean gasps, overwhelmed with their hot, slick flesh pressed together. Cas takes the chance to pull Dean’s shirt up and off, and then Cas leans back, gazing down at him with wonder in his eyes.

“So gorgeous,” Cas whispers. “I still can’t believe I get to see you like this.” He places a gentle kiss to Dean’s lips as his hands frame his face, making Dean’s heart swell in his chest. “I will never be worthy of your beauty.”

“Cas,” Dean breathes, a mix of touched and frustrated. “Can we—can we just do this without making it a Hallmark moment?”

“No,” Cas responds, a tiny teasing smile on his lips. But his hand comes between them and his thumb slowly drags up the length of Dean’s cock, stealing whatever argument he might’ve otherwise made. “Fast and hard or slow and tender...” Cas’s other hand guides Dean’s hand to rest over his chest. Over his heart. “You’re always here.”

His insides warm faster than butter, his heart beating frantically as he tries to figure out if he wants to know what that means or not. But then Cas’s thumb is swiping across his cock head and his cock jerks, eliciting a bead of precum and a sound of interest from Cas whose searing gaze has dropped to the tip of his cock.

“You see what you do to me, Cas?” Dean asks breathlessly. Cas’s hand falls between them to stimulate his balls, making his eyes drift shut and his head fall back with pleasure. With his eyes closed, everything feels more intense: his testicles being squeezed oh-so-gently in Cas’s big hand, the heat coming off of Cas’s body, Cas’s lips when they start moving along the line of his throat. But more than anything, he’s aware of how safe and secure he feels even hanging off of the edge of the map table. It’s never been like this for him before, and he finds himself admitting, “It’s all you, angel, only for you.”

His breath leaves him in a whoosh when Cas tugs and he crashes against him, their chests flush and cocks slotting alongside one another. One of Cas’s hands is on the back of his neck now, the other splayed open and possessive on his lower back, and all Dean can do is grasp his shoulders and wrap his legs around Cas even tighter, bringing them as close as they can possibly be while their mouths meet.

Dean bucks against him, desire tearing through him faster and hotter now that they’re so connected like this, the low whimper he gets in response from Cas only adding more kindling to the fire growing inside of him. Their nipples rub together, cocks bumping and grinding with no finesse but mercifully still unbelievably good. Cas kisses him until his lungs are burning and his lips are swollen, and only then does he pull away, his eyes heavily lidded.

“Only for me?” Cas echoes, a challenge in his voice.

Dean feels his heart stutter in his chest, but he’s already nodding, desperate to be anything Cas wants him to be when he’s looking at him like this. “You got no idea how long it’s been you.”

“Dean—I—” Cas closes his eyes, breathes hard. “The things you make me feel.”

Dean nods again, his eyes beginning to burn suspiciously. “Same, Cas. Scares the shit outta me.”

A big, warm hand cups his face, reassuring him with his touch. “I will never hurt you, _ol monons.”_

He doesn’t know what that last bit means, but it’s gotta be something super sappy if Cas won’t say it in English, and along with _I will never hurt you,_ it’s music to his fuckin’ ears. Somewhere along the way he’s started to believe Cas when he says this sorta thing and this is no exception. It fills him with more hope than he should ever let himself feel, but he can’t help it when everything Cas says is shining down at him in his eyes, too.

It makes him want more. Want everything.

“I want you, Cas,” Dean whispers.

“I’m already yours.”

A shaky laugh leaves him and he leans in to graze their lips together. “I want you to fuck me.”

Cas kisses him back, slow but firm, and while he doesn’t say no out loud, the fact that Cas doesn’t make an attempt to carry him into his bedroom like he was hoping probably says enough. But then Cas urges one of Dean’s legs to hitch higher up around his waist, and Dean’s back arches when one thick finger trails along his perineum.

“Absolutely breathtaking,” Cas sighs, and Dean can’t even work up a rebuttal because Cas’s eyes are trained on his face and there’s no doubt in his mind that Cas means it. Thankfully, Cas lowers his mouth to his, and he lets Cas pour all of the words he’s sure he’s holding back because of him into this kiss. It’s heartachingly tender, and he soaks it all in, going so far to chase Cas’s lips when he tries to break away and maintaining the connection even when Cas’s finger begins to circle his hole.

He’s just on the good side of desperate, making needy little sounds that he’d be embarrassed about with anybody but Cas, though his face does turn red as a tomato when Cas stops suddenly to look down at him with an assessing expression.

“You love this.”

Dean bites his bottom lip but nods, and as Cas seems to realize exactly what that means for them, he kisses him like he hasn’t already been kissing him for the last ten minutes. Like it’s the first time, the last time, the only time their lips might ever meet, and Dean feels his walls begin to crumble. There wasn’t a single second of judgement or disappointment on Cas’s face when he figured out exactly how much he likes to get fucked, and something loosens in his chest at the realization. Cas likes him just the way he is and it’s freeing and intoxicating and all he can think is _more, more, more._

Cas trails his lips down his neck and to his chest while his fingers rub and press and prod his rim, kissing him between whispered endearments of _beautiful, lovely, gorgeous, ol monons._ Dean feels himself warming from the inside out with every word kissed into his skin, his hands now clutching onto Cas for dear life, letting the familiar body beneath his fingertips keep him from shattering into a million pieces.

Cas’s fingers pull away as his warm hand slides along the inside of his thigh to his knee, and then Dean looks his fill when Cas takes half a step back and takes his own dripping cock into his giant hand and starts to stroke. Cas’s hair is a fucked out mess on top of his head, his skin rosy with exertion, his cock flushed and ready for him, and he barely holds in a desperate _please._

But then Cas catches his lips once more in another one of those kisses that makes his heart ache, that makes him pine for something that’s literally right in front of him, that has him melting into the strong arm that’s wrapped around him. His heart is opening in ways he never thought it could and it’s so _easy_ because it’s _Cas._

Once their lips part, Cas tells him, “I’m not going to fuck you.” Dean swallows down a bitchy _why the fuck not_ considering he’s basically throwing himself at him when he sees the stubborn set of Cas’s jaw. Whatever Cas is thinking, he won’t be able to change his mind so he might as well let Cas explain. “Because when we share that together for the first time, I’m going to make love to you, and it’s not going to be on top of the map table.”

His heart stops beating and his eyes betray him and mist over at the implication of Cas’s words—make _love_ to you—but all he does is nod and blink them away to dissect later. “Okay. I—” His voice is nothing more than a rasp, so he swallows a second time. “I think I kinda want that, too. With you.”

“Oh Dean,” Cas sighs quietly. _“Ol monons.”_

The words are almost lost because Cas chooses that moment to wrap his giant hand around both of their cocks. Cas is fucking huge and hard as rock and Dean is drowning in how good it feels to have his cock pressed against his. Cas’s blue eyes never leave his, the intensity and pleasure only eclipsed by the sheer amount of tenderness inside of them.

His heart thuds to a stop and his lungs close up as he realizes he doesn’t need to know Enochian to get the gist of what Cas has been telling him.

His eyes squeeze tight as the voices in his head start talking down to him all at once, telling him he doesn’t deserve this, is never gonna be good enough to keep it, will never measure up to—

“Stay with me, Dean,” Cas prompts him, one hand landing on his cheek. “Look at me.”

His eyes open on command to _blue, blue, blue,_ and Dean takes a shuddering breath as his heart starts beating again. He’s with Cas. He’s okay. He’s safe. He’s home.

“Kiss me,” he whispers hoarsely, and Cas does. He relaxes into it bit by bit, Cas’s hand on his face a simple and familiar gesture linked so thoroughly to dozens of soft kisses, endearments, and sweet moments between them that his mind flies him there. To happiness, affection, love. The walls crumble further and he doesn’t know how to fight everything inside of him without them. Lost, scared, and with no idea what he needs, he croaks out a broken, _“Cas.”_

And then Cas is reining him in again with his arm wrapped more firmly around his lower back, licking into his mouth like he belongs there, like he’s done it a hundred times, and now that Dean isn’t so tense because of the comfort he’s taking from Cas, he feels his cock jerk between them as renewed arousal courses through him.

Cas makes a pleased sounding hum against his mouth when Dean’s body goes lax, and Dean lifts his hands to his hair, combing through Cas’s messy locks to let him know he’s okay now. He’s okay because he’s with Cas and Cas would never hurt him. Cas rocks forwards, pushing his ass back on the table and sending a bolt of desire down his spine that breaks their kiss with the sound that comes out of him.

Cas kisses across his cheek, breathing his name in a stuttered sigh as he squeezes their cocks together even harder, dragging his hand up to their cockheads and twisting his wrist, drawing dual sounds of pleasure from them both.

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean encourages him. “‘t’s good, sweetheart.”

“Very good,” Cas replies, his breath hot on his neck, such a _Cas_ response that Dean relaxes even more as a smile curves his lips. He lowers his mouth to kiss the curve of Cas’s neck and rests his forehead onto Cas’s broad shoulder, looking down at where Cas is still working their cocks in his hand. The sight of their purpling cockheads slipping through the tunnel of Cas’s giant fist sends a thrill through him, and he moves his hand to join Cas’s. It’s corny as fuck, but his heart freaking melts when their fingers interlock.

Somehow this started hot and fast and ended up slow and gentle, but he doesn’t have a single complaint when Cas starts rocking with him again, slowly working himself into a leisurely rhythm of long, steady thrusts that reignites the fire inside of him at the same time it pushes and pulls on his heartstrings. And then Cas starts thrusting through the tight tunnel of their hands in earnest, and Dean uses his free hand to move through Cas’s hair to the nape of his neck, onto his shoulder, his back, the dip of his tailbone. He takes note of every time Cas’s muscles tense and relax, memorizing each touch that has Cas’s hips losing their rhythm and his breath catching.

Their lips find each other again, and Dean’s never felt more sure of anything as he is of Cas right now. Nothing has ever been so right. Cas would never kiss and touch and worship his body like this and not mean it. Cas would never hurt him. Cas would never leave. Not after this.

The emotions swelling to a crescendo inside of him has his breaths turning into heavy panting instead of quiet sighs, soft kisses pressed into Cas’s skin turning into teeth scraping along flesh, scratches down Cas’s back, and one tight handful of Cas’s ass urging him to rut against him faster, harder.

“Dean,” Cas pants, picking up the pace of his wrist and his hips just like Dean wanted him to. “Dean—Dean it feels too good. It’s too much. I can’t—”

Because he can hear the warning in Cas’s tone of voice and his orgasm is steadily creeping up on him, he begs him, “C’mon, Cas. I’m so close.”

“What do you need?” Cas asks him, a desperate edge to his voice as he forces both of their throbbing cocks through their fists again, sending a spark of pleasure straight to his cock. “Tell me—tell me what you need.”

“Just you,” Dean hears himself respond. And he realizes it’s true. “Like this. With me, close to me—hell, all over me. Please Cas.” His voice is getting harsher, pleasure burning inside of him when he understands only Cas could make him feel everything he’s feeling right now. “Only need you, angel.”

Cas moans, a low, broken sound, and Dean can feel it. He can feel the grace prickling along his skin, knows it’s coming, and his hands are shaking with anticipation as he lets go of Cas’s ass to pull him down by his neck until they’re forehead to forehead. “Let go, sweetheart,” Dean breathes, sweeping his thumb over Cas’s sweaty cheekbone. “I got you.”

“Dean—Dean—I—” He looks directly into Dean’s eyes and declares, _“Olani hoath ol.”_

And then Cas _crumbles._

His eyes light up with his grace, Dean’s slam shut to protect himself, and he fuses their mouths together as Cas drives through their fists once more before he stills and comes in hot spurts all over them both. Dean jumps when the light bulbs inside the map table burst, but Cas groans his name and he looks down to see Cas’s cock spitting out thick stripes of white all over his cock, the backs of their entwined hands, and his breath is punched out of him with a surprised sounding, _“Shit.”_

His back arches again and he falls back onto both of his hands on the table as Cas jerks his cock hard and fast for him. He’s bucking up into it wildly, heat continuing to race along his skin as he erupts all over his stomach and chest. Pleasure is rippling through him in almost inconceivable waves, so deep on so many levels he’s struggling to catch his breath while he starts to come down.

He’s barely even breathing when Cas leans forwards and runs his tongue along one thick glob of cum on his breastbone and swallows it down. _Holy fuck,_ that’s hot. His jaw drops, his dick makes a hell of an effort trying for a comeback in Cas’s hand and a feeble burst of watery cum dribbles down his shaft. That draws a gasp from him as Cas continues cleaning up his chest with his pink tongue like he has no idea this is the hottest fucking thing Dean’s ever seen in his life.

Figuring if Cas is in for a penny, he’d be in for a pound, he pushes himself back up into a sitting position and drags Cas’s mouth to his, licking inside roughly and instantly moaning at the filthy taste of his own cum on Cas’s tongue. He kisses and sucks and licks at Cas’s mouth until all he can taste is Cas, and only then does he break the kiss and truly try to catch his breath with his head on Cas’s shoulder.

 _Fuck,_ that was amazing.

Sex on the map table and cum sharing like the raunchy porno he used to get off to before he and Cas got together. Now he gets the real thing. He grins, sated and fucked out beyond belief, thinking he can check that off his bucket list when Cas breaks the silence.

“Remind me to thank Sam later.”

Dean frowns in confusion. Out of all the words Cas could’ve said, he definitely wasn’t expecting those ones. “Pretty sure it was me who just rocked your world, Cas, not Sam.”

“You ‘rocked my world’ because Sam ensured we had time alone.”

He actually scoffs at that. “No he didn’t. He just wanted company for whatever nerdy thing he was doing and we reaped the benefits.”

“And last week when he took Jack with him to do groceries? And the week before that when they went to a movie without us?”

He pops his head up and looks at Cas, seriously considering this now. “You think he’s taking Jack on purpose? To give us time alone?”

“Yes. I also think that’s why he’s started announcing what time he’ll be back when he leaves. So that we know how much time we have. And it can’t be a coincidence that Jack has stopped interrupting us when Sam is gone, either.”

As he flips back over the last three weeks in his mind, now looking at it the way Cas has obviously been seeing it, he realizes Cas is totally right. “Holy shit,” he breathes. “Sam is _awesome.”_

Cas’s lips press a kiss into his forehead before he says, “Jack, too. It must have been difficult for him not to disturb us for almost two hours while we watched that movie last night, though I quite enjoyed getting the chance to hold you.”

“Thought he was in bed ‘til we walked through here,” Dean admits, though it had been _heaven_ to be awake in Cas’s arms that long.

“I figured that’s why you refused to unlatch from my neck once we got up.”

“Not my fault you turn to putty every time I kiss your neck,” Dean grins, leaning in to mouth over the long column of it again now to prove his point. “How’m I supposed to resist that?”

“I’m not asking you to.” Cas’s voice is slightly breathless again already, and the mere sound is enough to make Dean want to keep going. “Although I would have preferred Jack didn’t see me in the state of arousal I was in at the time.”

Dean snorts out a laugh but doesn’t stop mouthing along Cas’s skin, the salty flavor of sweat on his tongue proof of how he already had Cas worked up a few minutes ago.

“Woulda been worse if it was Sam.”

This time it’s Cas who chuckles quietly. “I think Sam’s starting to get suspicious of the light bulbs.”

That makes Dean pull away, eying the map table that’s now dark beneath him. “Doesn’t help that Jack keeps pointing them out. ‘Dean, the light bulb outside your bedroom is broken. Did you know there’s no light bulb in the bathroom, Dean? You still didn’t fix the one in the laundry room either, Cas,’” Dean says, doing his best Jack impression.

“I think it was the hotel room that made Sam catch on,” Cas says, his lips turned up at the corners.

Dean snorts out a laugh. He impersonates Jack again, “‘Sam look! The light bulbs in both lamps are shattered here, too! Isn’t it strange that this keeps happening to Dean and Cas when nobody else is around?’”

“That reminds me,” Cas says, pulling Dean up and off the table so that he’s on his feet again. “We should clean this up. I don’t think they’ll be gone very long this time.” Dean has to rest one hand on the table when Cas bends to start collecting their clothes. Cas, of course, notices. “Are you alright?”

Dean grins. “Weak in the knees. That orgasm was _awesome.”_

“I was hoping to make you come first, but the idea of coming all over you did me in.”

Dean laughs at how easy Cas talks about this kind of thing. He never shows any embarrassment about sex or what gets him off, and by extension, it makes it easier for him to talk about it, too. “You’re kinda possessive, huh?”

“Not in the sense that I want to own you. I’ve watched enough beings try and fail to possess you to know _that_ can’t be done. But I will admit the idea of marking you with my semen is appealing. Maybe because I know how attractive other people find you? I don’t want to share you now that I finally have you and coming on you makes me feel like you’re mine.”

_Now that I finally have you._

He surprises himself by grinning like an idiot over that. “Kinda like how that sounds.”

Cas puts the clothes on a chair next to him, and steps in nice and close to bring his hand to the back of Dean’s head, stroking through his short hair softly. “Thank you for sharing more than just your body with me.”

The earnestness in his voice reminds him of Cas saying he wants to make love to him. Of the endearments Cas kissed into his skin and the words he whispered in Enochian. Of believing them, whatever they meant. He takes Cas’s hand to try to help drown out the doubt that creeps in when he thinks about it.

“Don’t make me regret it,” he says quietly.

“Never,” Cas promises.

Weirdly, he believes that too. They clean up, gather their clothes, and head back to Dean’s bedroom where they lie tangled together until they hear Jack and Sam come home, and the whole time he lets himself keep believing that maybe this could work—maybe he won’t screw this up, maybe he could make Cas happy, maybe he and Cas could really have something here—and it feels _awesome._ Delicate and terrifying but so fucking good.

He should’ve known it would never last.

Sam and Jack come back with pizza, which is like Christmas for Dean, but before they even get seated around the map table, Jack flips the switch for the lights in the room and tilts his head to the side quizzically.

“The lights on the map table aren’t coming on.”

Dean and Cas both look at one another without thinking, and then Sam makes a sound of disgust and says, “That’s it. We are _not_ eating out here.” He grabs the pizza and heads towards the living room with a confused Jack following behind and Dean unable to hold in his snickers.

Though Sam is obviously annoyed, Dean figures the four of them all squished onto the couch with pizza watching Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy together is still a pretty damn perfect way to round out the day. He even mans up enough to put his hand on Cas’s knee with his brother and Jack right there and gets a smile from Cas that makes his red face and sweaty palms worth it.

In between kicking everybody’s asses at Jeopardy (tonight is his night, apparently) he considers just coming right out and saying that he and Cas are a thing, but after he pretty much admitted it last time without talking to Cas first, he knows he owes it to him to ask him before he does that. Not that he thinks Cas will have a problem with it, but he might appreciate being asked first.

Considering the afternoon he and Cas had, he takes a shower before bed to freshen up. Because he knows it’ll drive Cas a little crazy, he uses some of the cologne he usually saves for going out, and even though he’s in a pair of threadbare pajama pants and bare chested under his dead guy robe with his hair still damp from the shower, he knows Cas is gonna think he looks good and it gives him an extra little bit of swagger while he walks back to his room.

When he opens the door, Cas isn’t laid out in his bed down to his dress shirt like he usually is. Instead, he’s sitting on the edge of his bed wearing his trench coat.

He’s leaving.

“What’s up?” Dean asks, amazed by how steady his voice is when he feels like he was just sucker punched.

“Angel radio. Naomi wants to meet with me and Jack.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah, and Lucifer wants us to raise him from the Empty.”

“Jack wants to go.”

Since Cas is already in his trench coat, he’s obviously decided he’s going with him. Never mind the fact that most of the angels up there want to kill Cas, capture Jack and use him to do god knows what. Cas thinks the smart thing to do is walking right into that just because a kid wants to, and Cas didn’t even bother to ask him how he felt about it first.

He grabs his phone off of his desk and starts scrolling through nothing just to have something to look at other than Cas. Once he feels like he can speak without either embarrassing himself or tearing a strip off of Cas, he says, “Guess I’ll see you when you get back then.”

Cas is getting up off of the bed and stepping into his space, but Dean’s already working on building his walls up again so that when Cas decides he wants to stay up there with the angels where he belongs it won’t hurt so bad. He lets Cas put his hands on his shoulders and he turns towards him when Cas urges him to, but he keeps his arms crossed in front of him so Cas can’t get any closer than that.

“I’m coming back,” Cas promises.

“Yeah,” Dean says dryly. The sarcastic _sure_ isn’t said out loud but hangs between them anyway.

“Dean,” Cas says, more of a plea this time. He reluctantly lifts his eyes to look at Cas but can only hold eye contact for a quick second, too afraid to see what might really be in there. “I have to do this. I can’t let Jack go alone.”

He shouldn’t be mad or even surprised that what Jack wants is more important than what he wants, and he wouldn’t even want Jack to go alone in the first place, but he feels anger and rejection twist inside of him anyway.

“I get it,” Dean replies. Because he does. He somehow forgot that Cas already chose Jack over him before he was even born and apparently things aren’t any different now. “Just don’t get killed, okay?”

“I won’t. I’ll be back as soon as I can, _ol monons.”_

Hearing that has something rising up in his throat that he desperately needs to keep inside, so he doesn’t let Cas kiss him even though they both want him to. The endearment does soften him enough so that he leans into the soft caress of Cas’s hand on his face, though. And then Cas’s fingers slide slowly off of his cheek, and he closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see Cas choose to walk away from him again.

He’s looking for a bottle before the door even closes.

Cas isn’t back yet when he wakes up with a strangled cry stuck in his throat in the middle of the night, and he isn’t next to him when he bolts upright first thing in the morning grasping at the burning mark on his arm that isn’t actually there anymore.

After the shittiest sleep he’s had in his own bed in the last six weeks, he’s in a fucking foul mood and storms out to the kitchen to get his coffee. It’s no coincidence that Sam is sitting at the kitchen table this morning when he hasn’t been there any other times when Dean and Cas stumble out together, and he resolutely doesn’t look at him while he grabs a mug.

He doesn’t want to see the pity or the understanding he knows is gonna be on Sam’s face.

Sam keeps tapping at the keys on his laptop, letting him have his coffee in peace, and it isn’t until he’s on mug number two that he speaks.

“Have you heard anything?”

Dean just shakes his head in response, trying desperately not to show how much that bothers him.

“No bars up there, though, remember?” Sam tries.

Dean aims a cool look in his direction. Remembering how pissed he was after Cas fucked off that one time without a word doesn’t help a damn thing right now.

“You got a case for us?” Dean asks.

The fact that Sam has one queued up shows just how well his little brother knows him. “Not much of one, but we got one body and two injuries near Wichita. Looks like it could be wild animals, but nobody got a look at what actually bit them.”

“Hell hounds?” Dean asks.

“Could be. And without Crowley to reign them in, we’re gonna have to take ‘em out ourselves.”

Sounds bloody and violent and fucking perfect.

And so a half hour later, he’s behind the wheel of the Impala and pulling out onto the open road. He feels more like himself—his old self, anyway—in his car with Sam by his side the way it has been for so long. He’s worried about Cas in the back of his mind, but that isn’t exactly anything new when Cas takes off like this, so he tries his best not to think about it and just lets the rumbling of the Impala and Sam’s idle chat chit soothe him into a false sense of security.

He works the case on autopilot. He and Sam wear the FBI suits and pose as agents to get into the morgue where they check out the first body. That confirms it’s either a big ass dog who bites and runs faster than anybody can see it or, more likely, that they’re dealing with a Hell hound. They interview one of the men who was bitten and though he sounds shaken up and refuses to take the bait when they drop hints about it maybe being invisible, he does tell them where he was when it happened. After checking the incident report for the other bite, they’ve managed to narrow it down to a three mile radius of a nearby forest.

Once they’ve had a couple of subs for dinner in their motel room while Sam makes sure to talk about everything _but_ Cas, they wait for dark and then change out of their suits and into flannel and jeans. Armed with glasses scorched by holy fire, angel blades, and salt rounds, they head out to the forest to track a Hell hound.

To say they’re not prepared to find a whole ass pack of Hell hounds would be the understatement of the fuckin’ century. Even surrounded and outnumbered, they manage to take out three, but with a bite to Sam’s leg and both of them running out of salt rounds, they have to bail and barely escape in the Impala.

He sleeps like shit for the second night in a row, pretends not to see the sad look Sam gives him all three times in the middle of the night when he wakes up with nightmares, and still doesn’t hear anything from Cas. The next day, they call their mom for an extra set of hands, and though it takes two more nights to get all the Hell hounds, they do eventually kill the fuckers.

There still hasn’t been a word from Cas or Jack, and even after he swallows his pride and leaves a voicemail Cas doesn’t call or text him back. It’s been five nights now and Cas and Jack have both totally ghosted them. Dean begs Sam to find another case so he doesn’t have to go home—the idea of sleeping in his bed alone without Cas when he doesn’t know where he is or if he’s okay is more than he can take—and Sam ends up delivering when they get a call from Donna.

Rugaru.

Luckily they’ve still got one of those rugaru killing guns from the Men of Letters in the trunk, so although it takes them three days to track the son of a bitch down, the fight isn’t a hard one and the monster goes down easy enough.

He still hasn’t heard from Cas.

Thankfully, Sam’s been great over the last week. Not pushing, not trying to get him to talk, not feeding him a load of bullshit about how he’s sure Cas and Jack are fine. He’s just there for company and to hunt and Dean’s never appreciated him more. Which is why he’s not surprised that even though Sam never goes with him when he goes out after hunts, he tags along tonight. Because now that the rugaru is toast and they’re too far from the bunker to head back tonight, Dean’s plans include getting fall down drunk at the nearest dive bar. Sam must know he’s not gonna stop after a few drinks, and hell, he wouldn’t even be surprised if Sam knew he was itching for a fight, but either way, his baby brother is here.

Dean’s chasing his sixth shot of whisky with a beer, and he’s got a leggy blonde hanging off of his arm. He’s not gonna do anything with her, and he’s told her that enough times that he knows she’s gotta have another angle here, but she’s still all over him.

“Your boyfriend’s looking pretty pissed,” the blonde whispers into his ear.

He’s pathetic enough that his head whips around looking for Cas, but she’s actually staring at Sam, who’s watching the two of them with an annoyed look on his face. He raises his glass to him in a mock salute, only making Sam’s scowl deepen. “That’s my little brother. And unfortunately for him, that’s just what his face looks like,” he says, which makes her giggle.

“His hair is hot,” she says.

Dean side eyes her for that, but he’s at least figured out what she’s doing now. He gives her a gentle push. “You’d have better luck over there.”

She seems to consider that, moving even closer so that her upper body is plastered to his side. His face heats up while he tries not to think about how this is the first time he’s been touched in a week; the first time a woman’s softness has been this close to him in _months._

“Any tips?” she whispers into his ear.

“He’s a nerd. Knows somethin’ about anything, so if you’ve got something you could geek out about with him, that’d probably work enough to get him to talk to you. Pretty sure he hasn’t gotten laid in a while so if you make a move after that I can’t see him turnin’ you down.”

Dean swallows down the rest of his beer and signals for another shot and another bottle.

“This round’s on me,” she says, dropping a bill on the bar.

Dean nods his appreciation. “Good luck.”

He watches over his shoulder when she slinks over to slide into the booth across from Sam, opening with something that has him tilting his head, telling Dean she just managed to surprise him. Not ten seconds later, Sammy’s leaning in across the table, obviously interested in whatever she said to him. He smiles to himself and looks down into his bottle, somehow missing Cas more now than he did before he started drinking.

He’s not jealous or anything because Sam has a shot at hooking up and he doesn’t. It might even be worse because it’s _not_ about the sex. He just misses Cas. He misses how he always feels just a little bit better with Cas around, how one touch of Cas’s hand can make him stop overthinking everything and just _be._ He misses how he’d wake up to a kiss on the forehead, misses Cas’s indulgent smile when he only communicates in grunts before coffee, misses falling asleep to Cas rubbing his back.

_I miss you, Cas._

He feels it so sharply as he thinks the words he can almost feel the black hole of loneliness opening up inside of him. He’s pulled from his pathetic thoughts when his new drinks are placed down in front of him. He nods but doesn’t look up, too afraid his misty eyes will be enough for the bartender to cut him off. He downs his shot and feels his bottom lip start to tremble. He sniffles, rolling his shoulders to shake it off, telling himself not to be the pitiful loser crying at the bar he’s seen a million times.

He forces his mind to think of something else. Anything else. He glances around, trying to find something to distract him when his eyes land on a guy sitting two stools down from him. The guy catches his eye and nods, then looks up to the TV screen.

“Football fan?” the guy asks.

“More of a baseball guy,” Dean responds.

“Royals?”

“Ride or die,” Dean grins.

“My kinda guy then,” the stranger says, and though Dean looks away after that, the guy moves down a stool anyway. “I’m Luke.”

“Dean.”

Dean’s not feeling too chatty with all the noise in his own head, but listening to this guy babble on about baseball is better than crying into his beer, so he nods along and answers questions when he asks them, distantly aware of the guy moving closer as time goes on. He keeps an eye on Sam, who doesn’t seem to be willing to leave with the woman obviously coming onto him, but looks to be enjoying himself anyway. When Dean turns back to the TV, Luke’s hand lands on his leg.

“Whoa there buddy,” Dean chuckles. “Hands off, okay? This ain’t happening.”

The guy looks around, looks back at Dean. “Nobody’s watching.”

“That ain’t the problem.”

Luke’s smile widens. “I saw you turn down tall, blonde, and desperate.” Bastard still doesn’t move his damn hand.

“Because I’m taken,” Dean says, turning away so the guy’s hand has no choice but to fall off his knee.

Luke moves in behind him and breathes right into his ear. “Yeah. That’s why you’ve been sitting here trying not to cry into your beer, right?” Dean doesn’t have a response for that because it hits too close to home, and the fucking asshole puts his hands on his shoulders, massaging them gently. “I guarantee you I can make you forget all about him.”

“And I guarantee you if you don’t get your hands offa me in the next three seconds I’m gonna shove my boot so far up your ass that you’ll be chewing on it for breakfast.”

Luke’s laugh makes his skin crawl. “Lucky for you I kinda like it a little—”

But he never finishes that sentence because the next thing he knows, the dude’s grabbed and dragged away with a sharp sound of surprise. In a daze, Dean’s eyes follow Luke’s stool as it crashes to the floor, and when he looks over to see where he went, he sees Luke pinned to the wall beside the bar by his throat, his feet dangling two feet off the ground with a pissed off looking angel holding him in place.

_Cas._

Dean’s head spins more than a little when he gets up and goes towards him, only partially taking in the way he’s growling, “—the next time somebody tells you _no_ and you continue to advance upon them, I _will_ hunt you down and your punishment will be much worse than the embarrassment of urinating in your underwear. Do you understand me?”

Luke only just manages to choke out a _yes._

“And that will be nothing compared to the never-ending pain you’ll find yourself in if you _ever_ lay hands on _what’s mine_ again.”

Luke nods and Cas lets him slide down the wall into a heap on the floor where Cas turns his nose up at him and aims a menacing glare in his direction.

“Cas?” Dean whispers.

Cas turns to him then, and his expression changes from one of extreme anger to extreme sadness as soon as their eyes meet.

It hits him like a punch to the face because he expected to see happiness from Cas. Relief. Affection. Not sadness.

It doesn’t make any sense until his brain provides the most obvious explanation: Cas doesn’t want to be here.

Cas isn’t happy to see him because he didn’t even miss him, he’s not full of joy because he didn’t want to come here in the first place, and he isn’t relieved because he doesn’t want anything to do with him. Dean drops the glass he didn’t even realize was still in his hand, and with tears in his eyes and more pain in his chest than any one person should be able to feel, he stumbles towards the front door of the bar and doesn’t look back.


	12. Chapter 12

“Dean, wait!” Cas’s voice is like salt in his wound, and even knowing he can’t drive, he makes a beeline through the parking lot towards the Impala just to try to get away from it. “Dean! Where are you going?”

“‘s okay, Cas,” Dean lies, his voice wrecked from the whisky and his trapped tears. “I won’t drive. Just let Sammy take me back to the room. We both know you don’t wanna be here.”

“Don’t want to be here?” Cas asks, stopping him with a firm hand on his shoulder and turning him towards him. “Dean, I have missed you every second of every day since I left.”

“Nuh-uh,” Dean says, shaking his head so vigorously he knocks himself off balance. He stumbles a step before Cas rights him again, guiding him to lean back against the Impala to stay upright. He should have known better than to drink sitting down; he had no idea how hammered he was until he stood up. “You left. Didn’t come back even when I asked you to.”

“I was here within thirty minutes,” Cas disagrees.

He tries to make sense out of that, but no matter how hard he thinks, he can’t do it. “What?”

“You prayed to me. You said you missed me and I came immediately.”

“Been sayin’ it for a fuckin’ week,” he says bitterly. Cas cocks his head to the side, so quintessentially Cas that it makes his heart ache. “I called you. Texted you. Left messages,” Dean accuses.

“You said you were checking in. You told me everything was fine. You said you and Sam, and I quote, were ‘knocking cases out of the park’ and ‘everything was under control.’”

He searches for Cas’s eyes for several disoriented seconds before he finds them. Then he smirks, and drawls, “Everything’s fine. Got it all under control, buddy.” He mimes taking another shot and shoots him a cocky wink. Cas looks murderous again, and Dean can’t help the nervous laugh that bubbles out of him. “Totally fine, see?”

Cas is seething. Even hammered he can see the fire in his eyes, the way his jaw is clenching, the stiffness in his shoulders. Cas is fuckin’ gorgeous and he wants him so bad it hurts.

“You’re hot as fuck when you’re mad. I ever tell you that, _Castiel?"_ Then, as the thought occurs to him, he asks,"You wanna fuck?” Cas flinches and Dean pulls him in rather clumsily by his tie, trying to be as seductive as possible. “I know you talked about all that making love shit ‘fore, but just between us?” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “I’ve fucked lotsa people who didn’t even _like_ me. You don’t have to either. Still got the same pretty lips you like, right, angel?”

Cas’s voice comes out cold as ice when he responds. “You are the single most asinine, self-destructive human I have ever come across.” Dean only smirks bigger at that because even Cas has no fuckin’ clue how deep that runs. “In _millions of years,_ Dean, nobody has ever even come close to how incredibly foolish you can be.”

Dean folds his mouth into a shrug. “I’m gonna take that as a no.”

“Of course it’s a no! Look at you! You’re barely even standing, Dean. You’re a mess.”

The words sting even through the haze of alcohol, but he can’t say he didn’t see something like this coming. Cas was bound to figure out what a fucking screw up he is sooner or later, and Cas doesn’t even know the half of it. Cas doesn’t know he wasn’t man enough to go back to the bunker and face his room alone, or that he hasn’t gotten more than three hours of sleep at a time since Cas left, but he's still fucking pathetic and now Cas finally knows it too and he obviously came here to break up with him.

He feels his eyes start to burn again and wills his emotions away. Losing Cas now is gonna fucking suck but he’s not gonna let Cas see him cry. No fucking way. He can take it like a man ‘cause he’s been preparing for this since before their first kiss.

He musters up a fake smile and gives the side of Cas’s face two quick pats before he forces out a pitiful sounding laugh. “Wow, Cas. Nobody’s ever broken up with me usin’ such big words before. Can you write ‘em down so I can Google 'em in a few days when I sober up?”

“I’m not breaking up with you, you idiot. I love you!”

That pulls a genuine laugh out of him this time. “Yeah right. Good one.” Then he frowns when he realizes how cruel that is. “Meaner than I thought you’d be though.”

“Dean,” Cas says, impatience bleeding through the single word the same way he’s heard Cas say it a million times before. Cas frames his face between the big, warm hands Dean has missed more than anything else. “I’m sorry I didn’t come back sooner. Jack’s grace was replenishing faster in Heaven so he wanted to stay and I didn’t want to leave him there alone. Because I was naive enough to take the messages you left me at face value, I thought you were fine. Had I known you weren’t doing well I would have come back faster. I wanted to be with you.”

He blinks through the fog in his head, trying to focus on Cas’s eyes so he can flesh out the truth. “You wanna be with me?”

“Sometimes I question my choice more than others, but yes. I wanted to come back the same night I left. I missed you, too.”

Dean squints, making sure he’s got this right before he gets his hopes up. “You’re not breaking up with me?”

“No. Honestly, I didn’t know you considered us to be _together_ enough to require a break up, but the answer is no either way.”

“You moved into my room. 'Course we're together," Dean scoffs. But that reminds him... "You didn’t come back just to tell me you found an angel to shack up with instead of me, didjya?”

Cas actually laughs. A laugh out of Cas is the best fucking thing in the world and he had no idea how much he missed it until right now. “I _despise_ the remaining angels, Dean. They’re all terrible! Why would you think that?”

Then it hits him. What Cas said before. If Cas really isn’t breaking up with him, does that mean... “Wait. You—you love me?” He tries to straighten up so he can get closer, so he can really look into Cas's eyes, but his feet cross and he stumbles, falling face-first into Cas’s arms.

“Dean,” Cas complains, sounding annoyed and pissed off all over again. "This is ridiculous."

Then Cas holds him steady by either side of his face, and even though Cas looks like he’s fed up enough to smite him, his muffled brain convinces him that if Cas’s hands are on his face it means Cas is gonna kiss him. He closes his eyes in anticipation, but instead of a kiss, he feels two fingers touch his forehead. He gasps as he sees blue behind his eyelids and the alcohol is wiped entirely from his system. His head seems remarkably clear with the absence of the brain fog, he gets back control of his arms and legs, and then Cas is withdrawing enough so Dean can see his face.

The smitey look is fading, and as they make eye contact, he can see the way Cas’s eyes begin to soften. Suddenly, all the air is punched out of him all at once because warmth unlike anything he’s ever felt blooms inside of him. After being so numb from the booze only a second ago, the warmth filling him now is _so much_ so fast it’s almost paralyzing. He didn’t have a chance to brace himself in time, to guard himself, to get those walls back up, and now he’s looking at Cas looking at him _like this_ and all he can feel is hope and joy and relief and _fluttering._

Cas’s eyes continue to soften as he maintains eye contact. Dean watches with his heart in his throat when Cas’s shoulders lift in a quiet huff of laughter as he smiles softly. “I thought I made that obvious a very long time ago.”

The warmth goes to war with doubt, and all he can do is shake his head in a dazed stupor because Cas _didn’t._ He hoped, yeah, but he never really let himself believe it. Especially not after Cas left. He refused to even think about what those words in Enochian might mean because the longer he was alone, the more he realized Cas loving him doesn’t make any sense. Cas is an angel, and Dean?

Well.

“That’s stupid. I’m a mess.” Dean purposely uses Cas’s exact words back at him to remind Cas he said so himself. “I’m a failure and a fuck up, and two minutes ago I was so drunk I could hardly stand up straight. I’m—I'm gettin’ old and I’ve got a bad knee. I’m covered in scars and bruises and I don’t even have a hint of a six pack anymore and I’m—I’m such an asshole, Cas. I’m never gonna treat you right or be good enough for you.”

“Dean,” Cas says sadly. “Do you think so little of yourself?” He has to look away because the last thing he wants to see is pity in those beautiful eyes of his, and he’s never been able to lie well enough to Cas to hope to convince him it’s not true. “You think I might not want to be with you because you have injuries caused from saving people’s lives? That I’ll choose Heaven and angels instead of you when the whole reason I’m not welcome in Heaven in the first place is because I _always_ choose you over them? You think you’ll make a mistake and I’ll decide you’re not worth it anymore?” Cas’s fingers on his chin tilt his head up until they have eye contact again. “Is that really what you tell yourself?”

“It’s true,” Dean maintains, though his voice isn’t anywhere near as strong as he hoped it would be. Cas shakes his head, like he’s a mix of flabbergasted and disappointed and Dean feels the remaining shred of hope inside of him wilt as he gestures to the expression on Cas’s face _._ “You’re disappointed already. It’s all over your face.”

“I’m disappointed in myself for not making it more clear that there is _nothing_ you could do to make me leave.”

“Yeah, right,” Dean scoffs, looking down at his shoes again.

“I mean it. There’s nothing that could make me leave you.”

Dean lifts his chin defiantly, losing some of it when he sees how close Cas is standing. Cas is basically between his legs, close enough his fingers itch to touch him—and without the alcohol clouding his thoughts he _really_ wants to touch him—but he powers through anyway. “I coulda picked up that chick who was hanging all over me before. Coulda taken that handsy guy back to my room.”

“But you didn’t, and you wouldn’t,” Cas says without hesitation. Before he can protest, Cas continues, “And even if you got so drunk that you did, I would be upset, yes. I would be angry and hurt and heartbroken and it might be enough to make me look at you differently, but I would still care about you. I would still stay. Outside of our relationship, you and Sam are still my family, Dean. And I’m not leaving either of you.”

His walls are shaking. He wants to believe Cas so fucking bad, more than he’s ever wanted to believe anything in his damn life. He wants to throw himself head first into the unbelievable urge to just give in and _let Cas in_ and really fucking _try_ at something other than hunting, and he’s only hanging on by a thread out of pure stubbornness.

There’s a final hint of a challenge in his voice when he questions, “Yeah? For how long?”

Cas steps even closer, leans in far enough that Dean’s reaching for him before he realizes he’s doing it. His hands part Cas’s trench coat and land on his hips, sending incredible warmth through his whole body that’s so comforting he’s surprised he doesn’t sag to his knees right there and then to beg Cas to never leave again. _Fuck,_ he missed him. And he missed how he can always, always see the answer in Cas’s eyes before he even gives it.

“Forever,” Cas promises, and _fuck._

He breaks.

“I missed you,” Dean whispers brokenly, his walls nothing now but a dusty pile of rubble. “I missed you so fuckin’ much, Cas.”

“Dean,” Cas replies, his head tilting to the side, somehow conveying a fond sadness. “I’m so sorry, _ol monons.”_

The endearment has his cheeks heating up, but for once in his fucking life, instead of hiding from it, he asks, “What’s that mean?”

“My heart. My love,” Cas translates quietly, his eyes once again revealing the truth in his words.

He’s sure his own eyes are Disney princess wide, but holy shit... Cas _actually...?_ “Holy shit, you love me.”

“I hope you won’t lose my number now that you’re sober,” Cas says, a hint of fear in his voice. “But yes. I love you. I have loved you for longer than I understood it was love I was feeling.”

And all at once, the warmth in his chest that was masked by fear only seconds ago overpowers everything else because _he believes him._ He believes Cas. The warmth is getting so big, so strong, he can’t even breathe through feeling all of it. He doesn’t know how to begin to try to hold something this massive inside of him—it’s filling him up, spreading from his chest all through his body. Every second it gets bigger and stronger until it’s bursting out of him, shattering the grip he’s always been able to keep on this feeling until right now. With Cas.

His breath finally leaves his lungs in a shaky exhale, and with it comes the admission he never thought he’d make out loud again.

“Me too.”

His heart is beating fast enough he wonders absently if he’s going to have a heart attack before Cas manages to say anything. But Cas is doing an adorable impression of a fish. His mouth goes from gaping with what Dean can only assume is shock, to smiling so big he can see his gums, but then the corners of Cas’s lips turn down and he sees Cas struggling to hold in the tears that are suddenly glistening in his eyes.

“You love me back?” Cas says breathlessly.

Dean licks his lips nervously and nods. “Scares the shit outta me.”

“You love me,” Cas repeats in a whisper. And unbelievably, Cas starts laughing quietly as his eyes fill even more. “I never even let myself hope,” he breathes, and then Dean is pulled into the best hug of his life. Cas is holding onto him so damn tight but somehow still tenderly, and he gives into the urge to bury his face in the crook of Cas’s neck where he fights back his own tears. The comforting scent of Cas’s skin and the sensation of Cas’s arms wrapped around him again after what feels like _years_ apart is enough to have his breath hitching in his throat, because goddamit, he loves him.

He loves him so fucking much and has for so long a part of him can’t believe he finally admitted it. He knows the only reason he could is because of Cas. Because it’s always been Cas. Because Cas makes everything better.

“All that shit in my head... all that bad stuff that pisses you off when I say it about myself...” He has to stop to swallow, to fight the impulse to say anything but the truth. “It goes away.” His breath comes out in a shuddering mess, his chin wobbling as he tries not to lose it. “‘cause of you, Cas. You make it go ‘way.”

Cas hugs him impossibly tighter. “All I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy,” Cas whispers, and as he stands there in the middle of the parking lot feeling like Cas’s arms are the only things keeping him together, he silently vows to do whatever he can to make Cas happy, too.

Because with Cas, he’s home. He’s safe. He’s strong. He’s beautiful. He’s loved.

_Flash._

He’s... having his picture taken?

He blinks the light out of his eyes and looks around for the culprit but can’t see shit.

“This is getting framed and captioned, ‘The day Dean Winchester finally got his head out of his ass’,” Sam says smugly.

“So _that’s_ what that means,” Jack remarks. “It means stop being afraid.”

“Or stop ignoring what’s right in front of you,” Sam confirms. “Like Dean and Cas being in love.”

Dean scowls at the idea of Sam overhearing all the sappy shit he said. “What’d you do, get popcorn and watch?”

“I wish I had popcorn! I’ve been watching you two idiots dance around this for ten years. You know what?” Sam asks with a laugh. “I think _I_ deserve a celebratory drink.”

Dean smirks and says, “Have at ‘er. Pretty sure our room’s gonna be occupied for the next little while anyway. Right, Cas?” He throws his arm around Cas’s shoulders and aims his most seductive smile at him.

“Yes. Dean requires a good night’s rest, and I need to be there to make sure that happens. If you have a problem with us sharing a bed then we’ll need to acquire our own room.”

Sam grins at Dean with a knowing smile on his face and says, “Nope. No problem here. I’m happy to share a room with you guys.”

“So not what I meant,” Dean says quietly to Cas.

Cas’s eyes widen slightly. “Oh. My apologies. You do need to sleep though.”

Dean sighs, knowing there’s no arguing with Cas when he has his well-being in mind. “Well, everybody in I guess. Since I’m apparently sober _and_ not getting laid tonight, I’m driving.”

He takes his place behind the wheel with Sam in the passenger seat and Cas and Jack in the back. And even though it’s pretty obvious he won’t be having sex tonight after spilling his guts like all of the rom-coms he’s watched led him to believe, he’s still got a small smile on his face when he backs out of his spot.

Because Cas loves him, Sam and Jack are his family, and he wouldn’t want it any other way.

He wishes it didn’t, but it feels weird walking into the hotel room knowing that he’s about to snuggle up with Cas in the same room as Sam and Jack. Despite what Sam said about being okay with it, he can see the way he keeps running his hand through his hair in a nervous habit, and he himself can’t keep his hand off the back of his neck. The TV is on in the room so the silence isn’t stifling, but he knows he and Sam at least are aware it’s there.

He and Sam take turns changing while Jack and Cas sit on the edge of the two beds. When he comes out of the bathroom in his boxers and a t-shirt, his face is beet red, but considering Sam’s already in the same bed as Jack, he doesn’t exactly have a choice but to crawl into bed next to Cas. And it’s not like he doesn’t want to be there next to him, he just doesn’t know how he feels about Sam seeing how he usually is with Cas.

So he flicks off the lamp and lies down next to Cas flat on his back, staring straight up at the ceiling with his arms flat to his sides. He’s breathing way too hard in his panic but trying to stay completely still so he doesn’t accidentally touch Cas (which is torture when all he’s wanted for the last week is to fall asleep in his arms).

He can feel Cas’s eyes on him, but Cas waits a solid two minutes before he says, “Dean?”

“Yeah?” Dean answers quietly.

“What are you doing?”

“Goin’ to bed.”

“Why aren’t you coming closer?”

Dean rolls over onto his side to face Cas, and he’s about to explain it feels kinda weird when Jack says, “Do you usually cuddle when you sleep?”

“Usually, yes,” Cas answers.

Sam says, “Aww.”

“Shut the fuck up," Dean shoots back.

“Relax, Dean,” Sam laughs. “I’m bugging you.”

“Well cut it out. This is already freaking me out.”

“Why?” Sam asks.

Cas covers Dean’s hand with his where it lies on the mattress between them. He meets Cas’s blue eyes, full of patience, and shakes his head. He can’t do this.

“May I?” Cas asks him quietly. Though he has no idea what exactly Cas is asking, he nods. Then Cas says, “Dean doesn't like looking vulnerable in front of you, Sam. He still believes it’s his job to look out for you like your dad told him to, so he’s nervous about letting you see him being intimate with me. Well, not just me,” Cas corrects. “I think he would feel this way with anybody, but feel free to correct me if I’m wrong, Dean.”

Dean just shakes his head because Cas isn’t wrong. He might not’ve chosen to say all of that out loud right now in this tiny hotel room he can’t escape from with Sam only a few feet away and Cas’s warmth calling him like a moth to a flame, but it’s out there now.

“So this is more of that ‘want to look tough’ crap?” Sam asks in disbelief. Dean isn’t facing him anymore, but he shrugs, which is as close to an admission as Sam’s gonna get. “It doesn’t make you weak to love somebody, Dean,” Sam says simply. “It makes you stronger. And, well, _lucky.”_ Dean’s eyes hold Cas’s, feeling safer looking into the blue he’s so comfortable with. “I know it’s a little weird right now but it’s just because I’m not used to it. I’m not like, judging you or anything.”

“Yeah right,” Dean says quietly.

Cas reaches out to touch his face, and the only reason he lets him is because he knows Sam and Jack can’t see him. Quietly, Cas says, “He loves you as you are.”

Because he believes Cas and _wants_ to believe Sam, because Cas’s words are a reminder that Sam told him as much when he first found out about him and Cas (and partly because Cas’s hand on his face is his undoing every damn time), he gives. He scoots forwards and puts his head on Cas’s shoulder, tucking in nice and close to the crook of his neck so that when Cas’s arms come around him, he’s surrounded by his touch, his warmth, and his scent.

It really does feel like coming home.

“Night Sammy, Jack.”

They both say goodnight back, and Cas’s hand starts rubbing his back how he usually does. Despite his paranoia that he can feel two pairs of eyes on them, he’s out within minutes. He wakes once, but only briefly, and Cas’s quiet reassurance that he’s here is enough to have him sinking back into a dreamless sleep for the rest of the night.

In the morning, he’s roused by voices. Jack and Sam. He can tell Cas is awake by the way his thumb is brushing along his lower back, and it’s really fucking inconvenient that he’s got a raging case of morning wood considering he’s sharing a room with his brother but _come on,_ he hasn’t been touched in a damn week and Cas smells really frigging good.

“Good morning, Dean,” Cas says quietly.

He has no idea how Cas knows he’s awake, but he always does. He grunts but wiggles closer, not wanting to get up anytime soon. Unfortunately that means his dick pokes against Cas’s thigh, and he snorts when he hears a little sound of surprise low in Cas’s throat.

“Sorry,” Dean whispers.

“Next time we get our own room,” Cas whispers back, which makes him smile and nuzzle into his neck, just to get them both on a level playing field. He feels Cas’s body tense against his when he presses a chaste kiss right behind his ear and Cas lets out a quiet, shuddering sigh. “Now you’re just being cruel.”

Dean laughs, and he’s just thinking how nice it is to wake up with Cas again when Sam says, “Is Dean _laughing_ before coffee?”

He backs away a little and tries to sober up, but Cas is smiling over at him with his hair all over the place and _fuck_ he’s cute. He never in a million years would’ve guessed he’d say it next, let alone in a room with Sam and Jack, but a quiet, “Love you,” comes out of his mouth and Cas’s smile gets three hundred times bigger and for the next ten seconds nothing but that smile matters.

Then Sam says, “Wow.” Dean rolls onto his back, glaring at his brother and just _daring him_ to say something to ruin this for him. But instead all Sam says is, “I’m—I’m really happy for you.”

“Oh shut up,” Dean says, assuming he’s joking.

“I mean it. I never thought I’d get to see you like this. Gives me hope, you know?”

“Hope for what?” Jack pipes up with.

Sam shrugs. “That there might be more to life than just hunting one day.”

He feels a pang of sadness for Sam, knowing he’s loved and lost once and was just starting to feel something for Eileen a second time, but he’s nowhere _near_ ready to talk about this kind of thing. “All because I laughed before coffee?” Dean asks. Sam grins sheepishly and nods to the end table between the beds where there’s—“Coffee!” Dean exclaims, diving for it.

He immediately takes a sip from the paper cup, and moans happily when he realizes it’s not some shitty hotel coffee. Somebody must have gone out and got this. He looks at Sam curiously and Sam explains, “I went down the road and got it.”

“I offered but we all agreed you should keep sleeping,” Cas says.

“No nightmares, huh?” Sam asks.

“Not like usual,” Dean says, knowing Sam’s gotta be thinking about what a headcase he’s been the last week.

Sam’s gaze falls to Cas for a few seconds, then drifts back to Dean with an embarrassed looking smile on his face. “It’s nice that you found something that helps.” Not knowing what to say to that, he takes another long drink of coffee. Sammy nods and says, “Well, now that you’re up, I’m gonna grab a shower.”

That leaves him, Cas, and Jack in the bedroom, so he leans back against the headboard and works on drinking his coffee. Cas takes his free hand, sliding his fingers between Dean’s, and it’s kind of insane how much steadier that makes him feel. With the TV on, they just sit quietly while he sips on his coffee, the silence interrupted often by commentary or questions about the news from Jack and answers from Cas.

The water cuts off in the shower, and like Jack was waiting for it, he asks, “Dean, is Cas your boyfriend now?”

Dean glances at Cas quickly, sees only patience and understanding in his eyes, and says, “Yeah, I guess he is.”

“And you love each other?” Jack prompts.

They both answer, “Yes.”

“Does that mean you’re going to get married someday?”

Cas warns him off with, “Jack.”

But Dean just laughs quietly. “Don’t think there’s much chance of a felon and an angel getting a marriage license, so it kinda takes the pressure off the question,” he says to Cas.

Cas smiles with his eyes. “I guess you’re—I believe the saying is—off the hook.”

Just then, Sam walks in. “Shower’s free.”

 _“And_ saved by the bell,” Dean quips, shooting Cas a grin. He feels Cas’s hand rub his lower back while he wiggles out of bed and looks over his shoulder to give him a thankful smile. He knows Cas has figured out how much his touch grounds him, and even though he’s not totally thrown by the marriage question, it’s still a lot to just have out there.

“If we weren’t used to it before, I guess we better get used to it now, huh, Jack?” Sam says.

“Used to what?” Dean asks.

“You two doin’ the whole staring thing,” Sam answers.

Dean rolls his eyes as he gets to his feet, but Jack adds, “It’s not as angry now, though.”

“No, now they’re in looooove,” Sam teases.

Dean feels his face flush, but realizes pretty quickly that two can play at this game. “Hey Cas, since we’re in love and everything, you wanna come gimme _a hand_ in the shower?”

Cas’s eyes go a little wide and he ducks his head to look at his hands where they’re now folded in his lap (which is adorable) but the best thing is Sam going, “Aw, come on. Nobody wants to hear about that stuff.”

“Shut up then,” Dean tells him, and he struts into the bathroom feeling like round one went to him.

After he’s showered and dressed for the day, he walks back into the room to finish packing his toiletries into his duffel bag. Sam and Jack walk past him, saying they’ll check out and meet him and Cas at the car. Dean finishes packing, then grabs Cas’s trench coat from where it’s thrown over a chair to pass it to him, but he stops when he hears the familiar jingle of a bell.

Curiously, he pats down the coat to find a pocket, then dips his fingers into the pocket only to pull out the collar he bought Catstiel.

 

  


He looks down at it with a fond smile on his face as Cas slips into his jacket. “You just carry this around with you?”

“Yes. It’s the first thing you ever gave me.”

Dean huffs out an amused sigh, remembering Catstiel with his big blue eyes and that soothing purr of his with a rush of affection. “Man you were a cute cat.”

Cas has a sideways smile on his face. “I’m not sure why that still pleases me so much.”

Because they’re alone and he missed Cas, he rolls his eyes a little for show and says, “I guess you make a pretty cute angel, too.”

He’s not disappointed in the least when Cas steps forwards and tilts his neck back, silently asking for a kiss. Dean presses their lips together and hums into it, wrapping his arms around Cas’s back to pull him up against his body where he belongs. Cas’s hands frame his face, tilting his head to the side, and he feels the tease of Cas’s tongue at the seam of his lips. He opens for him, eager to kiss him for real for the first time in a week, and as Cas licks into his mouth Dean fuckin' melts. He sinks against Cas, lets him take his weight, and just _feels._

Unbelievable warmth—love—surges through him, and he wants nothing more than to stand here for days letting Cas kiss him just like this where there’s no real world to get back to, no responsibilities, and no cases. Cas pulls away first, but sneaks in one more quick kiss before he breathes, “I missed you so much, _ol monons.”_

Knowing what that means now has his cheeks heating up. “You had to find the sappiest thing you could call me.”

Cas gives him a tiny smile. “It was better when you didn’t know what it meant.”

Dean swallows, licks his lips, and says, “Don’t tell anybody, but—”

“You like it,” Cas finishes for him, smiling wider now. “I know. And I’m happy to lavish you with praise and compliments exactly as you deserve while you continue to pretend not to enjoy it if it makes you feel better.”

Dean grins but admits, “It kinda does.”

“Your secret is safe with me.”

He dips his head to kiss Cas once more, just a brief, soft press of their lips, then says, “We should go before they come in here lookin’ for us and I have to look at Sam’s smug face the whole way home.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that,” Cas replies, obviously placating him.

With that, Dean grabs his bag and walks towards the door. “Plus, I’m kinda lookin’ forward to getting us home. Alone,” Dean says with a meaningful look over his shoulder.

Cas arching his eyebrows is enough for him to know Cas gets what he’s saying. “After this morning, I can understand why.”

Dean has to work at stifling his smile when he walks over to the Impala, hoping to avoid any comments from the peanut gallery. Once his stuff is safely in the trunk with Sam’s, he takes his place in the driver’s seat and heads towards home. Seeing as they didn’t have breakfast, they only make it a few hours before he makes a stop at a gas station for snacks.

Cas and Jack don’t need anything, so it’s just him and Sam who go inside. He makes a bee-line for some sandwiches he sees in a little refrigerator while Sam gets sidetracked by a magazine, and as he walks around the store heading towards the big Pepsi cooler, his eye catches on condoms on the end of an aisle. Next to lube.

He shakes his head as his thoughts threaten to get away from him and continues on to grab a soda. Now that he saw it though, he’s reminded that his bottle of lube at home _is_ getting kinda low. And how many condoms does he have left? It’s been so long since he used one he doesn’t remember. He’s gonna be pissed if he gets his ass all the way home and then he can’t get fucked because they don’t have condoms.

“Hey, Dean?” Sam says, suddenly behind him. Dean turns to give him his attention, and Sam says, “While we have the chance, I just wanted to let you know that I’m seriously really okay with the whole you and Cas thing.” Dean presses his lips into a tight line and shoves the Pepsi bottle under his arm. He needs some jerky and some snacks to go with the sandwich and he _really_ doesn’t want to talk about this, especially in a damn gas station. Sam follows right behind him, though, yapping the whole way. “I know it was a little weird last night but after seeing you guys together this morning and being in the car listening to you two bickering the whole way here like you always do, I know it’s gonna be fine. So, um, just—sorry if I made you feel weird about it before. I’m good with it, I swear.”

“That’s great, Sammy. I was definitely holding out this whole time for your approval,” he says sarcastically. “Actually, since you brought it up, me and Cas have some paperwork you’ll need to sign in triplicate, and then we can officially be boyfriends.”

Sam huffs. “I don’t even know why I bother.”

“That makes two of us,” Dean says with a toothy smile.

Walking towards the jerky brings the condoms and lube back into his line of vision, and he considers for a second just grabbing them to see how okay Sam _really_ is with it, but doesn’t want to be that big of a dick. At least not right off the bat.

“Does mom know?” Sam asks next.

For one horrifying heartbeat he thinks Sam is asking if their mom knows he needs condoms, but then he clues in. “That I’m with Cas?”

“No, that you’re... you know, bisexual?”

“No,” Dean says. And so that Sam knows he wasn’t only keeping this from him, he says, “Cas only found out ‘cause of that fake gay couple thing a while ago. It wasn’t like I told everybody but you.”

“Still wish you had told me, but I guess that’s all water under the bridge now,” Sam replies. “Just... at home, in the car, at hotels, whatever... feel free to, you know, be as open as you want to be. I’m cool with it and so is Jack.”

“So that’s a green light on sex in communal spaces, then?” Dean asks, snatching the jerky and moving over to the candy aisle.

He catches the grimace from Sam before he can hide it and grins to himself (it’s too easy sometimes) but Sam says, “As long as I don’t have to see it, hear it, or clean up after it...” Dean snorts with laughter, and Sam huffs again. “Fine. Forget it. If you’re done buying everything in the store, we can just go.”

Dean sees his opportunity to buy what he needs to make sure he can have marathon sex with Cas when he gets home and takes it. “Why don’t you gimme that bag of...” He squints his eyes to read what Sam has in his hand. Trail mix. “...bird seed and I’ll meet you back in the car?”

Sam shrugs. “I don’t mind waiting.”

“Well I gotta get a few more things so it might be a couple a minutes.”

“What do you need? I’ll just go get it for you.”

Dean has to look away to try to hide his amusement. “Nah, don’t worry about it.” He gets the candy he wants, stopping to grab some candy bars for Jack when he notices them, and then tries once more. “K, I’m all done. Gimme your stuff and I’ll go pay.”

“Your hands are already pretty full. I’ll just go with you.”

Dean tries not to lose his patience. “Okay, well, here. You take this and I’ll meet you at the car in a minute, then.”

Sam tilts his head at him. “Why are you being so weird?”

“Why are you being a god damn detective?” Dean shoots back. “I wanna buy something that I don’t want you to see, so fuck off and give me a minute.”

“You don’t have to be so secretive about everything, Dean. Whatever it is you can show me, and I’ll be fine with it!” Sam insists.

With his face burning now from a mixture of embarrassment and anger, he pushes Sam over to where the condoms are and grabs the brand he likes along with the biggest bottle of lube they have—and since his hands actually _are_ full—he shoves both of them into Sam’s mostly empty arms and says, “Thanks for the hand Sammy. Couldn’t get lucky without you.” Sam glares at him and his cheeks are definitely pink, but he doesn’t make a move to put them back or anything. Now knowing he needs to up the ante, he asks, “Do ya think the pack of 12 condoms will last me and Cas long enough or should I splurge on the 36 for a few more bucks?”

Sam spins and walks towards the counter with the condoms and lube still in his hands. Dean hurries after him, not wanting to miss the transaction with whoever’s behind the counter, but there’s two people ahead of them.

“Y’know, now that I’m thinking about it, I might need a bigger size for Cas. Guy’s packin’ some serious heat.”

Sam‘s silence lasts for about twelve seconds before he whirls on him and starts whispering hoarsely, that big vein in his forehead throbbing with the temper he’s doing a terrible job of hiding. “I’m trying to be understanding, Dean, and _you—”_

He’s interrupted by Cas, who appears beside them out of nowhere. “Jack would like a candy bar. With nougat.”

“Already on it,” Dean tells him, pointing to the few in the crook of his arms. Cas takes some of the stuff without asking, which gives him an opportunity to fuck with Sam some more. “Oh, I grabbed some condoms and lube for later.” Cas looks at the stuff in Sam’s hand and frowns at it. “What?” Dean asks.

“That’s not the lubrication I watched you use before.”

Dean chokes on an attempt to swallow his laughter and gets a look of death from Sam.

“I’m not picky when it comes to brands,” Dean explains to Cas.

Cas makes a sound of acknowledgement before he grabs for the box of condoms from Sam, turning the box over to read the back with a crease between his eyebrows.

“Think these condoms will be big enough for you?” Dean asks, struggling to get it out with a straight face.

“How do you know which size to buy? Are there measurements inside?”

It’s kind of cruel to use Cas’s ignorance against him just to irritate Sam, but it’s _so easy_ and he knows Cas doesn’t get embarrassed over this stuff. “I don’t know. I always just use the regular size, but when it comes to you, especially girth—”

“You know what, forget it,” Sam says between clenched teeth. He drops the stuff he had on the counter and shoots the pair of them a massively impressive bitch face before he storms out, making Dean finally give into the laughter he’s been holding in since he started this.

Fuckin’ classic Sam.

“He seemed mad,” Cas comments. “Is it because he’s insecure about the size of his own penis? I've noticed humans are very sensitive when it comes to that.” Dean just keeps laughing, wishing Sam was still standing here for this. “And before you buy these, I should tell you there’s no need.”

He puts a finger up to tell Cas to wait until he can catch his breath. “Sorry, what?”

“Angels can’t carry human diseases so there is no chance of spreading anything through sex, and obviously, pregnancy isn’t a factor here. Condoms aren’t necessary.”

“Can I help you?” the young woman at the counter asks.

Thinking about having sex with Cas without a condom has Dean’s mind a little frazzled, so Cas picks up the slack. “We won’t be needing these.” He places the condoms on the shelf and Dean vaguely registers the poor girl’s face turning a violent shade of red as she puts them somewhere out of view.

He barely manages to swipe his card without fumbling, and Cas guides him by his elbow out the door and off to the side.

“Are you alright?” Cas checks.

“What? Yeah. Yeah. I’ve just... never actually...”

“Had sex with a man?” Cas asks.

“What?” Dean says again. “No. I’ve done it with a guy... just not without a condom. Thinkin’ about... you know... the whole experience...” Dean trails off, shifting side to side to try to keep his over-eager dick down in public.

“You’re aroused by the idea of me coming inside of you,” Cas says plainly. When Dean doesn’t deny it, Cas nods. “That makes sense considering how you reacted to me tasting your semen.”

“Jesus christ,” Dean breathes, looking around to make sure nobody can overhear them. “If you could not make the situation in my pants any worse that would be great, Cas.”

Cas smiles that sideways smile that makes his heart lurch. “Sorry.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Wiping that proud little smile off of your face before you apologize would work wonders, ya know,” he says, trying to step around him. He gets stopped by a hand on his arm and a pair of blue eyes he hasn’t been able to say no to in months. “What?” he asks tiredly.

Cas steps in closer, rubbing his hands up and down Dean’s arms in a soothing gesture. “I’m sorry. It does please me that you find me attractive, but I didn’t mean to get you aroused to the point of discomfort.”

The honesty in his eyes is what does him in, and he relaxes incrementally, unintentionally shifting closer to him. “Not your fault you press all my buttons without tryin’,” he says quietly. “Hell, my dick hasn’t perked up this often since I was a teenager.”

Cas’s hand slips down to his lower back, where he rubs small circles. “Perhaps it has something to do with our emotional connection.”

Dean continues to look into the blue eyes he loves so much, letting them and Cas’s touch soothe him before he gets back in the car. “This you tryin’ to get me to say I love you again?”

“No,” Cas says, his smile in his eyes. “Those words should only be freely given. Like this morning.”

“Yeah, well, apparently your sappiness rubbed off on me a little,” Dean says gruffly, not wanting to linger on how soft he’s gotten for Cas.

“I promise I won’t get used to it,” Cas says easily, making Dean’s lips twitch to fight off a smile. “And Dean? I didn’t get a chance to say it earlier, but I love you, too.”

And even knowing that Sam and Jack are likely watching from the car, he uses his free hand to push through Cas’s hair and ducks his head an inch to slot their lips together. Cas kisses him back, their lips breaking apart and coming back together several times in a handful of seconds until he knows he has to stop before he gets carried away.

They walk back to the car shoulder-to-shoulder after sharing a smile, and for his part at least, he feels a hell of a lot better than he did a few minutes ago.

That is, right up until Jack starts digging through the bags for his candy bar and asks, “What’s personal lubricant for?” and Sam’s evil laughter echoes in his mind for the rest of the way home.


	13. Chapter 13

It’s been six days since they’ve been home, and despite his best intentions, Dean has yet to get fucked. Not because he doesn’t want to, and not because they haven’t tried, but because they’re apparently unable to last long enough to get to the good stuff.

Which is also why he’s currently down to his boxer briefs and changing the light bulb Cas just blew out after a pretty sloppy (but enthusiastic) mid-afternoon sixty-nine. It seems neither of them can be trusted to do their best work in that position, but he’s not against trying over and over until they get it right—even if it does mean replacing light bulbs several times a week.

“Y’know, it’d be a lot easier if you could stop blowing out the lights every time you blow your load,” Dean tells Cas.

Cas is completely naked, lying on his bed with his arms folded behind his head, looking every bit like the cat who caught the canary: all sated and sleepy and sexy as fuck.

“I don’t do it on purpose,” Cas says, his voice doing that drawling thing that it only ever does after sex. “My grace has to be channelled into something, and the electrical system seems to be the easiest thing to do with how little control I have in the moment.”

“Every time?” Dean repeats dryly, getting a lazy nod from Cas in response. “What if we were out in the middle of nowhere with no lights?”

“Nature, I suppose.”

As Dean finishes screwing in the light bulb, he asks, “So, is it like an angel thing, or a Castiel thing?”

“Losing control over my grace during sexual release is an angel thing. Channelling it into the electrical system may be more of a Castiel thing, if only because angels don’t typically have sexual relations with humans.”

Dean climbs into bed next to Cas, lying on his side with his head propped up on his hand. “And all this time, I thought it was because I’m so good in the sack,” Dean says, shaking his head as if he’s disappointed in himself. “What a let down.”

“You are unbelievable, in bed and out of it,” Cas says easily. “But the instinct to share grace during sex has little to do with that and more about additional pleasure for angels.”

 _Now_ he’s interested. “Share grace?”

“Well, it has to go somewhere.”

“What do you mean share, though? Kinda how you use it to heal me or whatever?”

Cas makes a sound of contemplation, drawing Dean’s eyes to his throat and neck. Maybe because it was always covered up by that damn tie, his neck is something Dean can never seem to tear his eyes away from. “That’s difficult to say since I don’t know how it feels for you when I heal you, but I would have to guess no, since—at least to my knowledge—you don’t get aroused from me healing you.”

Dean lets that mull around in his head for a little while, giving into the urge to lean in to brush his lips over that spot on Cas’s clavicle that drives him crazy. Cas hums his pleasure, but his arm wraps around Dean’s shoulders, his hand applying gentle pressure to the back of Dean’s neck to tell him wordlessly to keep going. It’s only been about fifteen minutes since he came so hard his vision whited out, so he has no real hope of getting it up again already, but that doesn’t mean he’s gonna miss out on a chance to make Cas feel good.

He lets the hand not currently holding him up drift down to Cas’s hip bones, his mouth working its way back down there even though it hasn’t been long since he tasted them the last time. Because they’ve both already reached the finish line once today, he’s not in a hurry now, so he slows it down and stops to visit each and every one of the spots that get Cas going on his way down. He lingers over Cas’s nipples, sucking on them until they start to swell and then closing his teeth around the tender flesh just to hear Cas moan his name.

He keeps his thumbs there, flicking over them every now and then as he trails his tongue down the center of Cas’s chest, stopping at his stomach to switch to wet, open mouth kisses until he reaches his hips. He rolls Cas’s nipples between his fingers as he samples each of his wing-shaped hip bones, tantalizes him by leaving line after line of kisses along the strip of skin just above his pubic hair, making sure to let Cas’s thickening cock nudge his chin and cheek as he goes just to tease him, then he mouths down the crease of each leg and along his muscular thigh.

He feels his own cock getting heavy between his legs as his palms follow the trail from his mouth over the tight, thick cords of muscles on each thigh, so turned on by Cas’s body that he’s getting hard for a second time faster than he has in years.

He moves back up Cas’s body with lips and hands just as slowly as he made his way down, and only then does he settle between Cas’s legs, letting their half-hard cocks nestle together between them. “Look who’s back in the game,” Dean says proudly, starting to work on Cas’s clavicle again where this all began. He rocks his hips gently, letting Cas feel how he’s getting harder and harder.

“Are you always this insatiable?” Cas asks.

“Not in about twenty years,” he admits, nipping at his lips. “Just somethin’ about you, Cas. Can’t get enough of you.”

“I will never get enough of you,” Cas declares, getting a sappy smile out of him.

“You wanna try that grace sharing thing?” he asks.

Cas looks shocked stupid, that crease appearing between his eyebrows and his lips parting. “You would be willing to do that?”

Dean rocks his hips gently into Cas, smirking when Cas’s eyelids flutter. “S’posed to feel good, yeah?”

“I’ve never done it, but from what I’ve heard, it’s supposed to be phenomenal.”

“So you wanna try it?” Dean asks again.

His breath comes out in a whoosh when Cas flips them over and his heavy weight presses him into the bed. Cas’s hands grab his and pin them on either side of his head, slotting their fingers together at the same time he grinds his hardening cock against Dean’s and his ass into the mattress. “More than you know.”

Dean lets out a husky chuckle, his cock now hard as iron from getting another glimpse of just how strong Cas is. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“My grace is me, _ol monons,”_ Cas says, leaning down to kiss him chastely. “Not somebody else’s face,” he adds, kissing his cheek. “But me as close to my true form as I will ever be able to show you.” Cas kisses his other cheek, then catches his lips in a surprisingly hot kiss, dominating his mouth and kissing him until they start rocking together, Dean’s hands still pinned down by Cas’s. They’re both breathing hard when their lips part. “The idea of sharing that with you is exhilarating but frightening.”

“Frightening?” Dean repeats, trying to keep his head in the game while Cas mouths from his jaw up to his ear. “Why?”

“What if you don’t like it?” Cas asks quietly. “What if it reminds you that although I look like one, I’m not really human?”

“Hey,” Dean says firmly, turning his head away so Cas has to look down at him. Once they have eye contact, he can see the fear and uncertainty swirling in the blue, and it’s like a compulsion with how desperate he feels to make him feel better. “It’s you, Cas. ‘Course I’m gonna like it.” He squeezes Cas’s hands in a gesture of support, then swallows down the fear he still feels when he thinks this, and forces out a shaky, “I love you.”

Cas’s expression softens instantly, and one of his hands releases Dean’s so that Cas can caress his face. _“Olani hoath ol.”_

Dean offers a timid smile, uncomfortable with talking about this but knowing it’s what Cas needs. “We’re in this, right? Not just for now, but until... well—”

“Until,” Cas confirms.

And for some reason, he likes how that sounds even though it’s open-ended. Until one of them dies. Until they both die. Until they fall out of love. Until something forces them apart for good. _Until._

“So,” Dean says, spreading his legs wider in a wordless invitation. “We’re together and all in love and shit. I’m human, so I share my—” He almost says ass, then changes it last second not to sound as immature as he is. “—body and heart like humans do.”

“And you want me to share my grace like angels do?”

There’s still some hesitation in the eyes he loves so much, so he takes a steadying breath before he speaks. “I let you in, angel, like I haven’t let anybody in... in forever.” He doesn’t say that he’ll never let anybody else in this much again if their relationship goes to shit, but he’s sure Cas knows anyway, since he always seems to know this stuff. “I’m not gonna try to force it, but it’d be nice if it was a two-way street.” He swallows, aware of Cas waiting for him to finish. “I-I wanna know you, Cas. I wanna know the angel just as well as the meatsuit.”

“No one knows me better,” Cas says earnestly, the promise filling him with pride. Cas is his as much as he’s Cas’s. “I love you, Dean. I will always love you, and I want you in every way I can possibly have you, _ol monons._ But are you sure you really want this?” Cas checks. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it deepens our bond more than ever.”

Though it scares the shit out of him to admit it, he says, “I’m all in, Cas. I wanna try.”

Cas’s lips curve into a smile, and then he’s back to grinding between his legs, capturing his lips and kissing him deeply. The hand still pinning his to the bed pushes it up and over his head, stretching his torso. He moans when Cas’s big hand begins a trail of fire down his side to his outer thigh and back up the inside until his fingers are teasing between his cheeks. He’s not all the way hard anymore, but he knows Cas is gonna get him there (and fast) if this is really happening.

He reaches blindly for the lube in his end table with his free hand, coming away with the new bottle they just cracked the seal on yesterday. Cas takes his time without it though, letting his dry finger trace his perineum, massaging the sensitive flesh with his thumb and making Dean shiver so hard he breaks their kiss.

“I could watch you like this all day," Cas says once their lips part, looking down at him like he‘s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Cut it out,” Dean says gruffly, earning a smile from his boyfriend that makes his heart lurch because Cas knows he doesn’t mean it at all. Cas knows how he relives these moments—keeps them on a loop in his head to try to replace the negative self-talk he’s been repeating to himself his whole life—because he just told him last night. “Sappy fuck.”

“I love you too,” Cas teases. He finally releases his hand and kisses him firmly, their lips clinging together for several seconds. “On your stomach.”

“So bossy,” Dean complains. Cas arches a single brow, and the next thing he knows, he’s being lifted like he weighs nothing and dropped unceremoniously face-first onto the mattress.

“Thank you,” Cas deadpans, and Dean’s just about to complain when Cas manhandles him up onto his knees with his ass up in the air. Intense heat courses through his veins so hot and so fast his breath gets caught in his lungs. He’s pretty sure he forgets how to breathe altogether, probably because there’s not a damn thing but blankness in his brain when Cas’s warm fingers part his ass cheeks to expose his asshole.

A strangled sound escapes him—a mortified but desperate plea for what he hopes is about to happen but will never, ever ask for—and Cas hums. “I thought you might enjoy this.”

Dean has about a second and a half where he considers lying and denying it, but then he’s obviously died and gone to heaven because he feels Cas’s warm, wet tongue make contact with his hole. Cas’s tongue moves in slow, sensuous circles around his opening, and he has to bury his face in his pillow to stifle a groan as pleasure wracks him. His fingers clench in his bed sheets as he tries not to think about just how deliciously _wrong_ it is to have an angel of the lord with his tongue in his ass, breath hot on his opening and ghosting along his taint, but even that thought goes flying from his brain along with any dignity he’s ever had when Cas chooses that exact moment to apply a little more pressure and dip in just a tiny bit deeper.

 _Jesus,_ Cas knows his way around here. In his limited experience with this, people just dive in and tongue his ass like a dog or something, but Cas. _Fuck._ Cas is taking his time, getting his skin nice and damp, letting the outer rim loosen naturally and _holy shit_ does it feel amazing. His dick twitches when Cas’s thumbs apply more pressure to his cheeks, digging into his skin to pull him open further. He’s sure his face is as red as it’s ever been, but it’s hard to care when Cas’s slick tongue begins licking slightly deeper, circling again and again and inching forwards until his scruff is scraping against his ass cheeks as the tip slips inside.

“Mmm, _fuck._ Just like that, angel.”

Cas responds with a hum of his own, the small vibrations shooting straight to his core and making his cock pulse where it hangs heavy and untouched between his legs. He feels like his skin is on fire with how hot he is all over, and he can’t possibly hold in the sound that’s ripped from him when he imagines exactly how Cas looks with his face in his ass.

Cas licks inside deeper still, the firm hold on his asscheeks urging Dean to start rocking into a slow but steady rhythm, each backwards motion forcing Cas’s tongue to press more firmly against him, and Dean’s officially (shamelessly) moaning. His eyes are squeezed tightly shut, pleasure shooting like lightning up his spine and back down to his cock. His pelvis is burning with it, the heat pooling low and powerful, and jesus christ it feels good. Any thoughts of holding back are so far gone it’s like they never existed. He feels his control slipping, the pleasure reducing him to something wild and brazen, and the rhythm of his rocking increases with his mounting desperation.

Cas just keeps at it, circling and licking, tugging down on his rim with a rigid tongue that stretches him just enough to make him cry out. Cas is fucking tearing him into shreds one lick at a time, using that abnormally long tongue of his to work him into a frenzy, making quiet sounds of pleasure right alongside Dean. It only increases his own pleasure to think, to know, that Cas is enjoying this too. He can hear rapid, heavy breathing coming from between his legs, telling him Cas is struggling to get a decent breath, but when he tries telling Cas to take a break, Cas’s fingers dig into his skin even harder and he sucks gently on his rim.

 _“Shit,”_ Dean gasps, a bolt of bliss forcing his ass harder into the burn Cas’s facial hair is scratching into his raw skin. "Fuck, that's good."

He feels fucking debauched. He’s covered in a layer of sweat, his ass rocking into his boyfriend’s face without restraint, his fingers going numb with how hard he’s gripping his sheets, and all he wants is _more._ More of this, more of Cas, more, more, _more._

That thought has him propping himself up entirely with one hand so he can wrap the other around his cock, gasping when he feels additional pleasure shoot through him. He’s fucking leaking at the tip, which is unusual for him, and it’s a testament to how Cas is eating him out like a fucking pro and making him so hot he’s literally dripping. He whimpers as he inches closer and closer to what he knows is going to be yet another too-soon-but-still-mind-blowing orgasm from Cas, but he can’t make himself stop moving, can’t stop pushing through the loose circle of his fist when it feels like rapture.

Not when Cas keeps making the hottest fucking sounds behind him, like he’s enjoying this as much as Dean is, like he fucking _loves this_ and could do it all day. And jesus, he loves him for it on a whole other level, feels appreciation for the man he loves amplifying more and more, and he finds himself chanting, “Cas, Cas, Cas.”

That dissolves into another groan as he feels a trickle of saliva slip down his crack to behind his balls at the same time Cas’s tongue presses in deep, and holy fucking shit, he might actually come like this. It’s fucking filthy and so damn satisfying and _goddamn_ does it feel good. He’s barely had the thought when he feels the telling sensation of his orgasm beginning to build inside of him. It’s depraved just how bad he wants it, how bad he wants to come on the tongue of an angel, and it pushes him even closer to the edge.

“Cas—I—I might—”

“Mmmhmm,” Cas answers, and the fucker goes at it even harder. His tongue thrusts in and out of him in a faster, firmer rhythm. One thumb slips down to start massaging his perineum, and he fucking chokes on how unbelievable that feels. He can hardly catch his breath, sweat is dripping down from his temples, his face feels like it’s on fire, and then Cas presses a little harder on his taint and he _yelps._ It’s weird—new, but not bad—and as Cas steadily increases the pressure, a jolt of pleasure he’s intimately familiar with surges through him.

 _Holy fuck_ Cas is stimulating his prostate from the outside. Having found what he was looking for, Cas switches from his thumb to his knuckle and maintains the pressure, and Dean dissolves into a puddle of sensation as Cas’s tongue gets back to work.

"Mmmm, _yeah._ So good, Cas. So damn good."

 _Son of a bitch_ this is amazing. He’s sure he’s _never_ felt this good, and he has to release his cock to stop from coming all over the bed beneath him. He's not gonna need his hand anyway. Cas is a sex god and he’s gonna come harder than he’s ever come in his life just on his tongue and then he’s gonna chain Cas to this bed and make him eat him out every second of every day for the rest of his life. He gasps out Cas’s name again, his hand sneaks back to work itself into Cas’s hair, and as his fingers get ahold of the thick strands, Cas moans against his skin and that’s _it._

He locks up as the pressure in his pelvis explodes and climbs along his shaft and right to the very—

Cas pulls away and grips his hips with a firm hand, stopping him from collapsing and desperately rutting into the sheets to finish himself off.

 _“Please_ —fuck, Cas—c’mon,” he begs.

“Not yet, my love.”

“You fucking asshole,” he complains.

But then Cas is curled over his back, his warm body a familiar comfort on top of his, and he feels Cas nuzzle into his neck. He tries to catch his breath as warmth and affection duels with sexual frustration, but Cas places a single chaste kiss to the bolt of his jaw and he relaxes minutely.

“I want to make love to you,” Cas says, his cock nudging against his ass and sending a new wave of desire through him.

“Today’d be great,” he says pointedly.

Cas’s teeth catch on his shoulder, making him breathe in sharply. “Don’t be such a brat. This is supposed to be romantic.”

“Yeah, a tongue in my ass just screams romance.”

“You certainly weren’t complaining a minute ago,” Cas says, sounding cocky, and the worst part is the fucker is right. “Should we continue?”

He bites back the bitchy retort he wants to make and says, “Hell yes.”

Cas kisses the same spot he bit only a moment ago. “There’s my good boy.”

His teeth grind together in order to hold in a low moan. He’d never admit it, but those words affect him almost as much as Cas’s face buried in his ass did. “Shut up.”

Cas huffs out a laugh, but begins kissing his way down his shoulder. He closes his eyes and concentrates on the sensation of Cas’s plush lips on his left shoulder blade, on the right one, and directly between them. On the damp, warm tongue that samples his spine as Cas’s fingers climb down his ribs like a ladder, on the scrape of stubble on his tailbone. He hums happily as warmth spreads inside of him along with his growing desire, Cas effortlessly conveying how much he loves him with every kiss and every touch.

And that’s when he hears the click of the lube bottle. _Fuck yes._ He braces himself for the finger he expects to feel work its way into him and is pleasantly surprised when it’s actually Cas’s mouth sealing over his opening and licking across his hole once more.

“Son of a bitch.”

Cas places a single kiss on his ass cheek, and _then_ he gets the finger. One thick, slick digit slides seamlessly inside of him, sending an arrow of desire directly to his gut and wrenching a low moan out of him immediately. Cas withdraws only to press back in with a second finger, and a symphony of debauched sounds escape him. Cas’s fingers thrust inside of him again and again, twisting and stretching until Dean’s back to white-knuckling the sheets. Cas’s lips return to his skin, kissing along every inch of his back that he can find. He kisses places nobody’s ever kissed before him, making Dean think of just how many different ways he belongs to Cas now—mind, body, and soul—and how he never wants to lose him. Never wants to lose this, the way Cas makes him feel, how he's forced to accept how much Cas loves him because he can feel it in every touch.

He makes a sound of frustration when Cas’s fingers slip out of him, but then there’s a strong arm wrapped around his waist and he’s flipped over onto his back and Cas is smiling down at him like he hung the moon.

“You can’t feel that much for me and expect me not to kiss you. I love you so, _ol monons.”_

Cas’s lips catch his in a deep kiss before he can respond. There’s a hint of his own musky flavor on Cas’s tongue, but it feels like it’s been years since Cas has kissed him, and it soothes something inside of him so thoroughly he can’t find it in him to be bothered by it. Cas settles between his legs, urging one of Dean’s up to hitch around his waist, and then Cas’s fingers slip right back inside of him.

His back bows, his cock brushes Cas’s firm stomach, and Cas’s lips move down to his neck while Cas makes a low sound of contentment. Cas feasts on his exposed skin, and the only thing he can do is wrap his arms around Cas’s shoulders, holding him as tightly as he can as Cas’s fingers begin to thrust inside of him once more, scissoring and stretching him open. The pad of Cas’s finger brushes his prostate and he groans, moving one hand into Cas’s hair to pull him up for a kiss. Their lips meet and he sinks into it, feeling the tension he didn’t even know he was holding onto from being so pent up start to seep away, and Cas makes another pleased sound.

“The way you give yourself to me, Dean,” Cas whispers against his lips. "Absolutely flawless."

Their mouths stay locked together in a deep kiss that makes his heart swell while two fingers turn to three, and only after they’re moving in and out of him without resistance does Cas break the seal of their lips. Dean watches raptly while Cas sits back on his haunches and squeezes a healthy amount of lube onto his cock, his mouth falling open when his big hand spreads it around. Cas is sexy as hell and Dean would happily watch him jerk off like this until he's covered in his cum. Cas’s eyes are dark and heavily lidded, his face is flushed with pleasure all the way down his neck and over his collarbones, his nipples are still slightly swollen from Dean sucking on them so thoroughly earlier, he has a smattering of bruises on his hips that Dean put there himself, and his hair is thoroughly mussed from Dean’s fingers.

“You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, Cas,” he says quietly.

Then Cas is back between his legs, his cock already lined up and nudging at his waiting hole when Cas says, “You are beautiful, inside and out. The bravest man I know. Stubborn and infuriating, but wise far beyond your years and truly one of God’s greatest creations.” Dean huffs out an embarrassed sound as a blush works its way across his cheeks, but Cas still isn’t done. “In my entire existence, loving you has been the easiest thing I have ever done.”

He doesn’t even get a chance to blink the tears out of his eyes before Cas is entering him, and then absolutely everything narrows down to the feeling of Cas’s warm cock stretching him open and sinking inside of him inch by inch. His jaw drops in tandem with Cas’s, his body singing with the almost alien _full_ sensation, his heart bursting because _this is with Cas_ and he's already addicted to this feeling. Fuck, it's been so long since he's been with a guy he forgot how much he can feel from having somebody inside of him. He can feel Cas's desire, the urgency he's trying to fight, his flesh hard and throbbing as he sinks inside of him further.

Cas lets out a shuddering, _“Ungh,”_  and Dean throws his head back, his neck bared, his every nerve ending pulsing with desire. Cas kisses him under his chin, a reverent, “Dean,” spilling from his lips and sending warmth shooting through him. God he loves how Cas says his name, loves Cas, never wants to forget exactly how this feels.

It suddenly hits him that he’s had sex hundreds of times, and yet finally crossing this bridge with Cas feels huge, momentous even. He's let Cas in so far and there's no going back from this.The feeling builds and builds inside of him, throwing him off with how different this is already and they’ve barely even gotten started. He never thought he would love anybody this much, never thought he’d ever experience this kind of connection with anybody, so deep on so many levels he can barely comprehend it. It’s a lot, too much, overwhelming. Nobody's meant to feel this much and stay in one piece and it's scaring the hell out of him. Dean’s hands squeeze Cas’s muscular shoulders in an attempt to ground himself, needing something familiar to bring him back.

Cas must misunderstand, because his hips slow to a stop and he asks, “Are you alright?”

Dean blows out a heavy breath, wanting him to keep going more than anything... just not like this. “Feels amazing,” he replies. “Just—just feels different with you.”

Cas’s expression softens. “Do you need me to stop?”

“No, keep goin’,” he demands with a cocky smile he doesn’t really feel. “But maybe... maybe you could kiss me again?”

Cas cups his face and looks down at him with so much love in his eyes that he’s already started to relax when he brushes their lips together. Cas pulls out a little and licks into Dean's mouth so skillfully that he's reduced to a panting mess before he pushes back in. This time, Cas's cock sinks in the rest of the way without resistance, and he hears a soft sound of satisfaction muffled by his lips.

This is more like it. This feels so impossibly right, like they were made to fit together just like this, like he’s finally found what was always meant to be inside of him all along, and he basks in the sensation, the completion, the euphoria. His hands become unglued and slowly start exploring the hard body on top of him as Cas starts up a gentle rhythm of making love to him with slow, deliberate strokes, like he, too, is savoring every moment.

“So—so unbelievably good, my love,” Cas tells him, burying his face alongside his neck and pressing dozens of kisses into his skin as he fills him again and again. Those words are like music to his ears, and now wanting him impossibly closer, he wraps his legs around Cas’s waist. The next time Cas sinks inside of him Dean calls out, having changed the angle _just_ enough so that Cas hit his prostate.

“So perfect,” Cas sighs, driving into him deeper in the next breath, like he knows exactly what he just did and wants to do it over and over. “So beautiful. I love you so much.”

“Love you,” Dean echoes quietly, turning his head to the side to give Cas’s mouth more space to roam. Cas nails his prostate often enough that he feels like he's on the brink every time he plunges inside of him. With each thrust, his nerves light up with pleasure and Dean loses himself a little bit more; loses himself in soft kisses, tender caresses, and sweet nothings whispered into his ear. This _is_ making love and he can feel it in every bone of his body, all the way down to his very soul and it’s fucking beautiful. Sam was right. Loving somebody doesn’t make you weaker, and he knows for a fact because he’s never felt this strong in his life.

“I love you, Cas,” he says more firmly. “Have for—for so damn long.”

Cas draws back to gaze down at him, his hips stalling and his eyes shining with happiness. “Oh, _ol monons,”_ Cas whispers, a touched expression on his face like he knows how big it is for Dean to say it.

“Don’t stop now,” Dean teases, running his hands down his muscular back to get two handfuls of Cas’s luscious ass. He pulls him in and feels his cock nail his prostate again, harder this time, and his breath leaves him all at once. “Ah, yes, _there!”_

Cas kisses him, firm but quick, and he thrusts inside hard and fast again, one hand burning on the curve of his thigh. “If you had any idea how many times I’ve thought of your bowlegs wrapped around me like this,” he confesses, his voice low and rough.

Heat races through him at the thought of a god damn angel fantasizing about fucking him, and like Cas knows how hot that gets him, his cock pistons into him brutally hard. Cas builds up to a much quicker pace after that, increasing the force behind each thrust, and as Dean’s moved incrementally back towards the headboard, he can feel a lazy smile curving his lips as he lies back and takes it, getting fucked just the way he likes it. There is  _nothing_ like getting railed good and hard, feeling Cas’s heavy body pinning him down, taking exactly what he wants from him, pulling pleasure out of them with thrust after thrust.

Except this time it's not just fucking, because it’s all of that stuff he’s been getting off on for years _plus_ Cas kissing his skin, caressing his thigh, and watching his face for every clue on how to make him feel even better. Between the sounds of skin slapping together and harsh breaths coming out in short pants, grunts, and moans, there’s not a single moment when he doesn’t feel loved, cherished, special. He knows how easy it would be to get swept away with all of theemotionsCas makes him feel because it happens all the time, but this time he’s determined to make Cas feel every bit as loved and worshiped as he does, so one hand lets go of Cas’s ass cheek and guides his face until their foreheads are resting together. He’s not so good with the words, so he initiates eye contact, looking deep into the blue, blue eyes he fell in love with until their lips come together again like magnets.

Cas’s rhythm falters as Dean kisses Cas with everything he’s got. He pours every ounce of love and affection and friendship he feels for Cas into their kiss as they come together again in new, slower pace, and a tender discovery of each other’s bodies that wracks him to his core. Somehow he knows without asking how or why that Cas is feeling the same way he is—that Cas feels loved, cherished, and special—and god dammit, _he is._ He is _so much._ They kiss languidly while Cas moves inside of him over and over, neither of them actively searching for release anymore but feeling it building between them anyway in the way their bodies tense, their breathing changes, their touches start bordering on desperate.

“Dean—you feel—it’s too good,” Cas says through clenched teeth, his hip bones still slapping against Dean’s ass as he keeps thrusting deep inside of him.

“I know, sweetheart,” Dean replies, honestly impressed that he lasted this long to begin with. “Always so damn good with you.”

“M-my grace,” Cas warns him, and yeah, now that he mentions it, he can sorta feel it building. That _thing_ in the air has been getting thicker and thicker, and now that he’s thinking about, there’s a distinctive _hum_ vibrating along his skin. “Will you let me share myself with you?”

“Yes,” Dean answers without reservation. Then seeing how relieved and touched Cas looks, he opens further and says, “I’m all yours, angel.” He hooks his ankles behind Cas’s back, searches for his hands to fold their fingers together, connecting them in every way possible before he looks straight into his eyes and nods encouragingly. “It’s okay, Cas. I want this—wanna feel you.”

Even though Cas is still thrusting inside of him, he’s slowed down again enough that it’s obvious he’s trying to hold back, but all Dean can think about now is feeling Cas come inside of him at the same time he feels _Castiel_ for the first time, and he’s suddenly ravenous for it. He rocks his ass down to impale himself onto Cas’s thick cock, undulating his hips in a sensual roll and grinding Cas’s cock directly onto his prostate. He clenches down as he feels that delicious tingling on his skin, hears Cas’s breath shuddering out as his fingers squeeze Dean’s in a death grip, and _fuck_ he’s close now.

“I-I love you,” Cas sighs. “Close your eyes, my love. I’m—I’m— _Dean!”_

Dean only has a split second to register that Cas is coming with a wet spurt deep inside of him before Cas crashes their lips together, and then all of the sudden, he feels it. Grace. It’s... it’s just a trickle at first, similar to what he feels when Cas heals him, but more intense. The sensation itself feels almost cool, like a breeze on a hot summer’s day, but then he gasps when it turns on the head of a pin, all of the sudden beginning to warm up and rush through his veins.

It’s brand-new and exciting, but so overwhelming he doesn’t know what to do with all of it. “Cas?”

“I’m here,” Cas answers. “Let me in, _ol monons._ Feel how much I love you.”

He takes a deep breath, and as Cas’s lips brush his forehead, some of his panic fades and he feels the warmth sink inside of him more deeply. It’s... kinda nice now. _Really_ nice. It feels fucking good, actually. Like warm massage oil spreading through him, so intimate, hot, and sensual. It heats up more and more until it’s so impossibly good all he wants to do is to wrap himself up in it, roll in it, rub himself against it.

He’s distantly aware that Cas is still rock hard inside of him, still filling him with cum, letting him know this is has all been happening in the space of seconds even though he feels like he’s been letting his grace swirl inside of him for hours. 

It kinda reminds him of the warmth he sees in Cas’s eyes when he looks at him, like one of Cas’s really tight hugs, like that feeling he has in the morning when he wakes up to Cas’s arms around him, when their eyes lock and he can’t look away...

He feels Cas. This is what Cas feels like.

The same feeling he’s been getting from him for _years,_ but the concentrated version is immeasurably stronger, and it’s such a relief to finally understand the indescribable warmth he doesn’t know what to do with it except moan, move, and rock into the sensation. He feels _whole._ Like he was missing this piece of himself all along even though he had no idea, and now with Cas—literally _Cas_ —inside of him he’s finally right, finally complete, and he holds tight to it when he realizes he never wants it to end.

“Oh, Dean,” Cas whispers brokenly, obviously picking up on what he's feeling. _“Olani hoath ol.”_

Then there’s a shift and he feels like Cas's grace is penetrating his very soul, lighting up his insides like a perfect sunny day from the inside out. It’s so fucking beautiful, so intimate, so much, so  _hot_ that it sends an inferno of pleasure crashing through him. His entire being shatters into a million tiny little pieces as unprecedented heat scorches his skin, locks up his muscles, and then he's coming harder than he’s ever come in his life, actually fucking _screaming_ as it finally reaches its peak. Hot liquid falls onto his stomach, but the only thing he’s aware of now that he can form thoughts is Cas, at how his ass is clenching around Cas’s cock like a vice as he shoots all the way to his chin. All he can see behind his eyelids is the glowing blue of his angel, and then he groans with relief when he feels Cas’s grace start to cool him down again. It's welcome compared to the all-encompassing heat only a moment ago, and he feels himself go lax as is soothes him bit by bit.

As the blue fades from behind his eyes and Cas's grace slowly ekes away, the first words torn from his mouth all the way from the pads of his feet are a hoarse, _“Holy shit.”_

Cas is gasping for air, too—and he collapsed on top of him at some point, apparently?—but he pushes up to his elbows shakily and asks, “Are you alright?”

Is he? He’s... he’s fucking _stunned._ That was unexplainable. As close to too much as it’s possible to get without turning bad, but still ultimately good based on the cum staring to cool on his goddamn neck. 

“I'm fuckin' awesome,” he says breathlessly.

“Does that mean you liked it? My grace?”

“Seriously?” Dean asks, chuckling quietly when he realizes Cas really doesn't know. “It was amazing, Cas, best feeling in the freakin’ world.” He feels Cas relax and knows he should tell him the best part. “I’ve felt it before though, just not that intense.”

“When I healed you?”

“Well, sorta, yeah, but that only lasts for a second so it’s not really the same. It’s hard to explain,” Dean says, already feeling like he’s not doing a great job. “Your grace when you heal me is like cool water rushing through me real fast. But you inside of me? Was like... sinking into a hot tub at the end of a hard day.” He hears a quiet laugh from Cas and kisses the top of his head again with a sideways smile on his face. Cas deserves to know just how life changing it really was, though, and because he remembers promising himself that night in the parking lot that he was gonna do everything he could to make Cas feel as happy as he was then, he swallows hard and says, “I’m gonna be sappy about this for ten seconds and we’re never talking about it again, okay?”

“If you want,” Cas concedes.

He waits while he thinks it over, wanting to be careful to say exactly what he feels so he doesn’t have to try this again later. “It felt like time stopped. Like I was wrapped up in the best feeling you can imagine and I never wanted to come out of it. It felt... fuckin’ _right_ being connected to you like that... like I was always supposed to let you in. And you, Cas?” He smiles through a sigh, knowing he’ll never be able to describe how awesome he felt. “I’ve felt you a hundred times.” He stops when Cas lifts his head and tilts it to the side, looking at him with disbelief. “I have,” he insists, holding eye contact like he can make Cas believe him if he just looks at him steadily enough. “Every time I wake up in the middle of the night with your arms around me, every time you look at me like I’m worth something, every time you kiss me, I feel _you._ I knew _you._ I knew exactly what you felt like way before today, Cas. That's what made me fall in love with you, angel. Not somebody else's face.”

”That—that’s impossible,” Cas says, sounding almost spooked.

Dean shrugs. “The impossible is kinda what we do.”

And when Cas smiles—a real smile that warms his eyes and erases any lingering doubt—he smiles back because for once in his damn life, he said the right thing.

He made Cas happy, and now he just wants to do it again and again.

They meet halfway for a kiss, and even though his stomach is sticky and gross and his ass is starting to leak cum and lube, he can’t think of a time he’s ever felt better than he feels right now.

Later that night, he and Cas are still wrapped up in their little bubble of love and happiness after what happened earlier, and so they’re more affectionate than they usually are in front of Sam and Jack. They’ve cleaned up, and they’re crammed onto the couch watching reruns of Friends with Jack and Sam while Sam searches for near-by cases. It’s the episode where Phoebe's friend tries to convince her to sell Smelly Cat as a jingle, and Dean starts laughing as something occurs to him for the first time.

“I can’t believe I never sang Smelly Cat to you while you were Catstiel,” he chuckles. “Man, what a fail on my part!”

Cas aims an offended look at him. “I didn’t smell bad when I was a cat,” he points out.

“But still,” Dean says with a shrug. “Would’ve been hilarious.”

Cas looks away though, his jaw tight and his attention fully on the TV even though he knows for a fact he won’t enjoy this episode anymore. Dean sighs when he sees Sam look over the back of the couch with his eyebrows raised, obviously also picking up on the fact that Cas is pissed.

 

  


Knowing he somehow fucked up here, he takes Cas’s hand in his and says, “Remember I told you the other day how you were such a cute cat? Super soft fur, all cuddly and shit, and I swear your purr is still the best sound in the whole world. Hell, you were such a cool cat that you made me start _liking_ cats.” When Cas still doesn’t seem to soften, he plays his trump card. “And I love you?”

Obviously mollified, Cas turns back to him and smiles softly. “I love you too.”

Dean relaxes with a quiet sigh of relief and lets his head rest on the back of the couch, which is when he hears Sam chuckling quietly. Knowing without having to ask that he’s being made fun of for sucking up to his boyfriend, he reaches behind the couch to pull Sam’s hair. Sam whacks at him blindly, accidentally hitting Cas on the back of _his_ head and Dean has to swallow another laugh so he doesn’t get sent right back into the dog house.

“Screw you, Dean,” Sam says.

“You started it!” Dean replies.

“I wasn’t laughing at you being completely whipped—even though you are. I was thinking about how crazy it is that Cas, the angel who was never supposed to feel anything at all, ended up being the one who got _Dean Winchester_ whipped enough to play the love card to get out of trouble.”

“Well, shut up,” Dean says weakly.

But Sam's right, and all of them sitting here know it. Dean’s been happier since he and Cas have gotten together than he’s been in the last twenty years, and when Cas looks over him with his favorite indulgent smile on his face, he doesn’t even hesitate before he leans in to kiss him for it.

“Guess you’re feeling kinda smug now, huh?” Dean says, quietly enough that only Cas will be able to hear him.

He’s torn between being impressed and irritated that Cas managed to one-up him when he responds, “Like I told you before, good things do happen, Dean.”

He rolls his eyes, but he can’t keep the smile off of his face because it might’ve taken ten years and a stubborn black cat, but Cas was totally right.


	14. Chapter 14

Dean wakes with a warm, sturdy body wrapped around him and soft, dry lips pressing kisses to the nape of his neck. His shoulder. The freckle beneath his ear. It’s the same way he wakes up every day now, but he still basks in it. He lies there lazily for long minutes filled with loving touches and quiet sighs, whispered declarations of love, of a teasing, "Good morning, Dean,"before he rolls over and finds Cas’s lips for a kiss.

It’s only the first kiss they’ll share today. He knows there will be countless others, though it doesn’t make this one any less special. His personal favorites always seem to be first thing in the morning and right before bed, though there’s something to say for the needy, bruising kisses when it’s been too long and they’re both on the good side of desperate.

Later that day there will be a wet kiss shared in the shower, one he drags out just because Sam walks in on them and complains about it, one in the library that’s a failed attempt at diverting Cas’s attention from the research he’s doing, and his least favorite kiss, the always too-brief meeting of their lips right before they leave for a case.

The _just in case_ kiss.

It’s been more than six years since their first kiss, and still, the _just in case_ kiss sits like a stone in his stomach every fucking time. They’ve had dozens of conversations about it over the years. Dean struggled to put into words how it tears him up to kiss Cas a hundred times a year knowing there’s a good chance it could be the last, and they both agreed it would probably be easier on him not to do it anymore.

That worked right until they were walking into another abandoned building and fear gripped him like the dead—the fear of something happening to Cas the one fucking time he didn’t kiss him freezing his heart like ice—and he stopped halfway through the doorway and pulled a surprised Cas towards him for a quick but firm kiss with his mom and Sam barely two feet away. It was a relief at the time, but afterwards, he remembered that feeling of dread he got from not kissing him more than anything, and so the tradition continued even though that one kiss is always heavy, loaded, damn near stifling.

The _just in case_ kiss is over and done with for tonight, though. In fact, they’ve moved onto the, _I almost lost you_ kiss. Not two minutes ago, he was jammed up against the wall and had to watch while half a dozen demons swarmed the man he loved. He watched when Cas smited three of them and tried to get a fourth but didn’t have enough grace left, and then he saw the panic in Cas’s blue eyes when they landed on him, felt their joint fear like a kick to the gut, and he couldn’t even choke out a single word let alone a final _I love you._

He somehow managed to escape the demon that had him up against the wall though, and he fought his way through the ones who had Cas like a man possessed. Everybody’s heard of those stories where people suddenly have impossible strength—enough strength to lift a car off of somebody they love after a car accident—and now it was happening to him. He couldn’t even feel his limbs, but there they were, tearing demons off of Cas and burying his angel blade into one after the other. And now it’s just him and Cas and a bunch of empty meat suits, and Cas is bleeding from his temple and Dean’s hands are covered in blood that doesn’t belong to him, and then he’s heaving Cas to his feet and he’s pressed against a wall for an entirely different reason.

Cas kisses him absolutely breathless, the neediest whine he’s ever produced in his fucking life torn from his lips as his hands start running all over Cas’s body. Not for pleasure this time, but looking for injuries, searching for blood, listening for any spot that causes Cas’s breath to hitch from something other than arousal.

His eyes remain closed while he checks him over, and all he can see in his head is that look in Cas’s eyes. The _this is it_ look that he never wants to see again as long as he lives.

He makes a pained sound and breaks their kiss. “I thought—”

“I know,” Cas answers, his teeth digging into Dean’s lips sharply as they crash together again without finesse but it doesn’t even matter because Cas is _alive_ and a few minutes ago he thought he wasn’t ever gonna have this again.

“Cas, fuck,” he breathes, his heart hurting just thinking about it. “You _can’t._ If you—I’d never—”

 _“Nothing_ could keep me from coming back to you, Dean.” Cas’s voice is low and gritty, the emotion behind his words making his hands shake as he pushes up Dean’s shirts to find his skin. Dean pushes into his touch needily, aching for Cas's hands on him to make him think of anything except for losing the man he loves. “I will never leave you.”

The promise is empty because he knows Cas can’t guarantee that, not really, but it soothes him anyway, and now all he needs is a reminder of how alive the angel really is.

“I need you,” Dean says hoarsely. “C'mon, angel. Lemme feel you, sweetheart.”

“I-I burned out three demons.”

“Just a little, Cas. I need—I need to know you’re still—” His voice cracks but that’s all he has to say before Cas’s hands frame his face.

“Okay, _ol monons,_ okay,”

And then Dean’s eyes close, Cas’s mouth seals over the juncture of his neck, and he feels the first cool stream of Cas’s grace slip inside of him. It’s only cold for a moment before it warms up, and Dean moans, a combination of ecstasy and relief rushing through him so fast he can’t stop the way it builds behind his eyelids and drips down his face.

How could he go on without ever feeling this again?

How could he ever live without Cas now?

“I love you.” The warmth inside of him _—Cas—_ doubles, quadruples, makes him smile between his tears as heat races through him. “So fucking much.”

Cas’s fingers slide down his arms to fold between his, his cock hard from adrenaline and slotting along Dean’s hip bone. “I love you.”

He gasps into Cas’s mouth when they kiss again, tasting tears and a hint of blood that could be from where Cas's teeth caught his lip, could be from Cas's mouth—hell—it could be from one of the demons he killed, but it doesn't fucking matter because their cocks are now grinding against each other, speeding towards a paradise he’s only ever been able to find with Cas. His Cas. His best friend, his lover, his partner in every sense of the word. It's messy and dirty and desperate, bordering on animalistic in the way they're both following their instincts to grind, to rut, to crash against each other over and over. Dean's shoulders are pressed into the wall behind him, scraping again and again along the cold, rough cement each time Cas plows against him, but his spine is curled towards Cas where their groins line up, thrusting and thrusting and thrusting.

Their lips are soft but their mouths are hard, their teeth clack, catch, bite into skin. Cas's mouth sucks a painful mark beneath Dean's ear and Dean burns for it, wanting at least one of the bruises on his aching body to belong to Cas, to make him think about something other than losing him, about Cas, about how Cas is here and alive and so fucking wild for it he can hardly catch his breath between his dominating kisses. 

He’s already three quarters of the way there when Cas’s nimble fingers pull his throbbing cock out from his jeans, and his head slams back into the wall when Cas’s slick hand closes around him. Whether it’s blood or sweat easing the expert slide of Cas’s hand doesn’t matter, nothing matters but the rapidly building heat inside of him, the way Cas rasps his name, the way Dean fumbles between them to free his angel’s cock, too.

They barely make it long enough for Cas to wrap his hand around them both before he can’t hold on anymore. He lets go of any attempt to make this last in favor of really feeling alive again. He gives himself to Cas entirely, gives himself to the pleasure mounting with each desperate jerk of Cas’s wrist, opens himself up for the surge of grace he knows he’s about to feel, and it hits him like lightning. Pleasure so visceral it brings him to the balls of his feet rips through him as he crumples forward at the waist, only being held up by Cas’s strength as he comes with a shout that echoes in the empty warehouse.

Now with his head on Cas’s shoulder, he moves in to lap at his damp skin, tasting bitter sweat and a hint of copper on the side of Cas’s neck, but still, he sucks _hard_ the way Cas likes it until Cas is clutching at him. Cas is gasping his name now, his hard cock slipping through Dean’s cum with a filthy squelching sound as he chases his orgasm, and then Cas locks up and Dean feels his thick cum landing on his spent cock, and _yes, yes, yes._ Yes, there it is, exactly what he was searching for this whole time—Cas’s grace—spreading through him head-to-toe in an instant, lighting up his insides, and making him feel whole again.

He slumps back bonelessly. Cas’s forehead is resting on his shoulder now, and both of their chests are heaving with the need for air, the sweat and blood on Cas’s temple making his hair curl and tickle Dean’s skin. The warehouse smells like sex and death, stale air and Cas, and still somehow feels like home.

“It wasn’t just two demons,” Cas says, breaking the silence.

Dean feels fear clench in his chest all over again from the reminder. “Not forgetting that any time soon.”

“That was the second most terrifying moment of my life.”

He doesn’t ask what the first one was. He remembers the searing heat of the bullet tearing through his stomach two years ago. The bullet he jumped in front of Cas for. The one that caused their biggest, longest fight to date, both of them absolutely convinced their partner is worth more alive than themselves. It was the only time Cas was so furious he really thought he was going to leave him.

“Right up there with mine, too,” Dean admits, kissing his hair. “You got enough left in you to clean this up?” Cas makes a tired sound, but a second later, the cooling, sticky feeling of cum is gone. “Thanks, angel.”

Cas straightens up, and Dean gets a good look at his face for the first time. He looks haggard. He knows without having to ask that Cas used more of his grace than he should have, and Dean’s equal parts annoyed and worried in a heartbeat.

“I want to go home,” Cas says.

“We need to get you horizontal first. You need to recharge your batteries.”

“Please, Dean,” Cas pleads, his eyes wide and sad. “I’ll sleep on the way there. I just need to be home.”

He hasn’t figured out how to say no to Cas yet, so even though it’s past dark outside and he’s got five hours of driving ahead of him, he nods. “You got it.”

The drive home is spent with one hand on the steering wheel, one hand holding Cas’s, Cas’s head on his shoulder, and Dean trying to come to terms with a decision he should have made years ago.

He gets Cas home and tucked into their bed, worry burrowing more deeply into his chest when his angel doesn’t even budge when he pulls the covers up. He still drops a kiss to Cas's forehead before he leaves the room and goes into the kitchen to wait for Sam. He grabs a beer from the fridge and tries to think of the right words to say, but even though it’s been hours by the time Sam comes out dressed for his morning run, he still doesn’t have them.

Sam looks at the two bottles of beer on the table next to Dean and takes a seat across from him. Dean doesn’t drink so much now. Hardly at all. Beer is the only alcohol in the whole bunker, and these were the last two in the fridge.

“Rough one?” Sam guesses.

Dean lifts his eyebrows and gives his head a slow shake. “Close one,” Dean answers.

The fear that kept him awake all night is in Sam’s eyes now. “What happened?”

“Not just a couple of demons, a fucking swarm of them. Cas got carried away by them like Hagrid with the fucking spiders at the end of Deathly Hallows.” He swallows the last warm mouthful of beer from the bottom of the bottle, wishing desperately for something harder to make the memory less clear in his head. “I thought that was it, Sam.”

“Damn,” Sam says heavily. “He’s okay though?”

“Drained, but yeah. Could’ve been a hell of a lot worse. Almost was.”

Neither of them says anything for what feels like a really long time. But Sam doesn’t leave and Dean’s thankful for it. Thankful he doesn’t have to think through this alone anymore.

Finally, Dean says, “Remember last month when a skinwalker got the jump on you? You woulda been toast if it weren’t for Jack.”

“Yeah, not likely to forget that anytime soon.”

Dean smiles brokenly hearing Sammy say almost the exact same thing he said to Cas earlier tonight. Yesterday. Whatever the fuck day this is.

Even after sitting here all night, he doesn’t know how he feels about saying what he says next. Ashamed, scared, disappointed, excited? All of the above?

“You ever think about not hunting anymore?” He can tell by the expression on Sam’s face that he didn’t expect him to say that. It makes him regret it instantly. “Forget it. That was—fucked up. Long night, you know?” He’s already pushing the chair back with a scraping sound that echoes through the bunker, more than ready to go back to his room and forget he’s a shitty enough person to think that let alone say it out loud.

“Every single day,” Sam replies, freezing him in his tracks. Sam waits for him to settle back into his seat and make eye contact. “I know you don’t like to hear it, but we’re getting old, Dean. You’re pushing fifty. We’re not as fast as we used to be. It takes us longer to recuperate after a hunt. It’s getting harder to sit in a car for days at a time. Honestly, we’re gonna be out of the life one way or another, probably sooner than later.”

That fear from earlier makes itself known again. He swallows it down, tries again to find the right words. “I always thought I’d go out in a blaze of glory, y’know? Always figured you’d be there too. We’d be back to back, and we’d go down fighting the same way we’ve fought through the last forty years, just you and me against the world. And for most of my life I felt like that woulda been fine. That was the best possible outcome I could dream up.”

Sam nods, obviously having had the same kind of thoughts. “But that’s not what you dream up now.”

“Now I dream about living.” Dean shakes his head as shame creeps in again just from admitting it. “Now I want all the cliched shit I never thought I would.”

“Wife and a dog and two point five kids?” Sam jokes.

“Cas, a couple of rocking chairs, and a spot on the deck with your ass print worn into it,” Dean says, completely serious. His eyes start watering over knowing how close he was to losing that tonight. He blinks it away and meets Sam’s gaze. “Almost lost that last month. Almost lost it tonight. Almost lost the dream.” He sighs heavily, breathing through the tears that are still threatening, fighting through the self-disgust he feels confessing this. “Maybe it makes me a selfish son of a bitch, but I don’t wanna lose it, Sammy.”

“I don’t _want you_ to lose it,” Sam says emphatically, and seriously screw him for causing the first tear to fall. “And you’re not selfish, Dean. None of us are. We’ve devoted our whole lives to helping other people. If you’re ready to call it quits, there’s not a single person out there who’d blame you for it, me included." He pushes his hands through his hair and leans onto the table. "God, Dean, it’s okay to want to live.”

Dean shakes his head, silently thinking about all the people who only get to keep living because of him, trying not to wonder who’s going to save them when he’s not hunting anymore.

“Have you talked to Cas about this?” Sam asks.

Dean shakes his head again, swiping at his running nose. “No. Wanted to run it past you first.”

“Me? Why?”

“Because. You’re my brother. It’s been us since the beginning—saving people, hunting things. If you wanna keep hunting, I’m gonna be there to make sure you don’t have to do it alone.”

Sam pushes his hair out of his face, blowing out a long breath. It’s a little while before he says anything.

“I haven’t met my Cas yet—or I met her and lost her,” Sam says sadly. “So I don’t have the same kinda thing you do making me want to quit.” Dean feels disappointment swamp him, but he won’t go back on his word. He won’t make Sam hunt alone. “I don’t want to keep hunting, but I still wanna be in the life,” Sam admits, sounding sheepish about it. “I wanna help people, run a dispatch center maybe, help with research. I can’t just turn my back on all of it.”

Dean nods, thinking about it. “I could see that. You whippin’ up some kind of hunting app or something, keeping everybody connected and flagging cases for nearby hunters to take.”

Sam smiles shakily. “Exactly.”

“Bobby’d be damn proud,” Dean tells him, thinking wistfully of the old man. Then he sighs and asks the one thing that he hadn’t been able to come up with an answer to alone. “Where would we even go?” He looks around the bunker. The only home he’s known since he was a child. “Am I gonna live in an underground bunker for the rest of my life?”

“Doesn’t really seem like a good place for rocking chairs and a deck.” Dean’s lips curve up into a tremulous smile. “There’s a lotta empty land out here, though. I run through it every day.”

His heart lurches when he thinks about the sprawling field behind the bunker. “Lotsa space for a little house with a deck,” he muses. They don’t need a big house. Not as long as they’re safe and together.

“And rocking chairs,” Sam says, making his smile spread. “Plus, the whole property is warded. You’d be safe here.” Dean nods, his dream starting to take shape in his mind. “And it’s not like you have to quit the life tomorrow. You can still take on some salt and burns while you work on building a place for you and Cas.”

“For all of us,” Dean insists.

Sam smiles but shakes his head. “This is the only home I’ve ever known. I’m ready to step back a little, but I don't think I'm ready to move out yet. I'll have Jack to keep me company, and mom pops in often enough. Besides, you and Cas deserve a place of your own.”

He feels a pang of sadness thinking of living away from his brother for the first time in almost twenty years. “Soon as I’m done my place, you’re cutting your hair and helping me build a place for you next door.”

Sam snorts his laughter. “We’ll see about the hair cut, but I’ll take you up on being your annoying neighbor.”

Dean smiles, a small, timid thing. Can he really have this? Can he really get out of the life alive with Sam alive too, and Cas by his side? Can he maybe, just maybe, believe there’s a happily ever after in the cards for all of them? For him and Cas?

He never let himself really consider that until right now, and son of a bitch does he ever want it now that he has.

If he’s gonna have a happily ever after with Cas, he better make it official. Or as official as he can get anyway.

“Guess I’m gonna need your help with one other thing first,” Dean says, trying not to look like he’s about to shit himself at the very thought.

It’s less than five seconds before Sam’s smile lights up his face as he figures it out. “About damn time.”

It takes two days for Cas to start looking like himself again, but the extra sleep he needs gives Dean the perfect opportunity to get everything together. So it’s three days after Cas’s near death experience when Dean finds him in their bedroom standing in front of their dresser.

“What ch’ya doin’?”

Cas nods to the few articles of clothing in front of him. “Just putting the clothes away.”

Dean’s clothes, since most days Cas still wears his suit. He walks over to help Cas finish up, then he slides their fingers together, his heart already in his throat. “Wanna take a walk?”

Cas looks at him like he has three heads. “A walk?”

“Yeah.” Dean grins at his reaction, the same reaction he told Sam Cas would have. “I wanna show you something.”

“Alright.”

Dean leads Cas through the hallway and past the map table, where he stops to grab an actual wicker picnic basket Sam helped him find. Cas raises his eyebrows in a silent question, but doesn’t voice it aloud, which Dean is thankful for. They walk up the stairs and through the garage door that opens to the field he was talking to Sammy about a few days ago.

It’s July, so the air is hot and sticky, and Dean's suddenly cursing the red shirt he has on over Cas’s t-shirt with the feather on it from so many years ago, worn and soft now.

Cas lets go of his hand long enough to strip off his suit jacket, which he drapes over his forearm before linking their fingers back together. He can already feel the blush warming his cheeks and Cas hasn’t even seen what he let Sam talk him into doing yet. Cas squeezes his hand gently before his thumb starts brushing back and forth over the back of his hand, comforting and reassuring him even though Cas has no idea why Dean’s so nervous in the first place.

It’s only been about two minutes of walking (though to him it feels like decades) when they come to the red and white checkered blanket he and Sam laid out. It’s spread out with a couple of big white pillows by the head and fucking daisies in mason jars they found in the bunker holding down the corners.

Cas stops in his tracks, his head tilted adorably to the side. “What’s all this?”

“Surprise,” Dean says breathlessly. “Thought we could have a picnic.”

Cas draws him in by running his hand up his arm and tugging gently. He lifts his chin and kisses Dean softly, lovingly, making Dean’s heart swell three sizes in less than three seconds. “This is lovely. Thank you.”

“Sam’s idea,” Dean says, not wanting to take all the credit. “Let’s take a load off.”

He and Cas settle onto the blanket, facing the open field sprawling in front of them. Mostly yellow grass covers the area, but it’s open and untouched and wild, and there’s something peaceful about the view. Dean pulls two beers out of the basket (Sam tried to convince him to go with wine but he refused) and hands one to Cas, which makes his angel’s lips bend into a small smile. They both crack them open, and while Dean sits back and tries to make his heart slow down to a reasonable pace, Cas starts methodically rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing muscular forearms that still make Dean’s mouth run dry after more than six years together.

There’s some cheese and crackers, fruit, and pie in the basket, but his stomach is much too full of nerves to even think about eating any of it. So they sit in a comfortable silence, drinking their beer, listening to the gentle breeze rustling the tall grass around them, feeling the sun beat down on their skin, and watching as birds and insects take advantage of the space around them.

He glances over at Cas to see a tranquil smile on his face and his eyes lit up with happiness. He feels a nudge to his shoulder and follows Cas’s pointed finger to see a big fat bumblebee walking along a daisy. That’s a sign if there ever was one, and as he casts his eyes up to the clear blue sky wondering who’s giving him their blessing, he feels his nerves disappear.

“Nice out here, huh?”

“It’s beautiful. I wish I had thought to come out here sooner.”

“What do you think about living here?” Cas turns his head towards him sharply, his eyebrows furrowed. “I was thinking about building us a house. Just you and me, right here.” Dean opens his arms to gesture to the space they’re currently occupying.

“You want to build us a house?” Dean nods, his heart back in his throat. “What about Sam?”

Fuck. He loves Cas _so much._ “Sammy wants to stay in the bunker for now, but there’s lotsa space here for another little house once he realizes he can’t live without me.”

Cas looks away and takes in the open space around them, nodding. “We don’t need much.”

He feels his heart growing dangerously full. “That a yes?”

Cas turns back to him with his favorite indulgent smile on his face. “Did you really think I’d say no?”

“I, uh, guess I didn’t get everything out,” Dean explains. He takes a swig from the bottle and feels his nerves settle again when Cas’s hand lands on his thigh. “I wanna start slowing down when it comes to hunting.”

Cas blinks in surprise for a handful of seconds before understanding crosses his face. “This is because of what happened on Monday.”

“It’s because me and Sammy aren’t getting any younger, and even with help from you and Jack, we aren’t as good as we used to be.” Cas opens his mouth to protest, but Dean talks over him. “We’re not as quick. We’re getting hurt more often, taking longer to heal, and you’re taking longer to power back up.”

Cas looks at his knees. “The longer I spend on earth without returning to heaven, the more human I become.”

They’ve never talked about it, but the confession isn’t a shock to him. He’s noticed how Cas needs more sleep than he used to, how he’s started eating at least one meal a day with them, how quickly his grace runs out when he uses it.

“I’m almost fifty,” Dean says, his appalled tone of voice earning himself a smile from Cas. “If I stop hunting, I figure there’s a chance I got another fifteen years left in me.”

“You’ll have much longer than that,” Cas says firmly.

There’s an ache in his chest, the same ache that appears whenever he thinks about dying and Cas being left behind alone. Without him. “Maybe,” he says, placating Cas more than anything. He sets their empty beer bottles aside for something to do with his hands. “Point is, I don’t wanna spend whatever time I got left watching the people I care about getting hurt more and more because we’re all too stubborn to walk away while we still can.”

Cas nods, but asks, “What would you do if you weren’t hunting?”

Dean can’t help the way his lips quirk into a smile as a weight lifts off of his chest at the very thought. “I have no fucking clue.”

“But you’re happy about that?”

“Having a choice about how to fill my time for the first time in my damn life? Yeah,” he chuckles. “Guess you could say that.”

They’re quiet for a few minutes, both of them back to watching the bumblebee crawl along the flower pedals.

“There wouldn’t be much use for a powered-down angel if you weren’t hunting anymore,” Cas says quietly.

More than fifteen years Cas has been down here with them, six of them with him and Cas together, and here he is still hung up on the whole useful thing. Dean tries not to let the anger coursing through him ruin the moment, knowing there’s some things he’ll never be able to fix completely, and takes several calming breaths before he answers him.

“I dunno. I was thinkin’ you’d be able to have one hell of a garden out here.”

“A garden?” Cas asks curiously.

“We could have a deck off the back of the house, a couple of rocking chairs out there facing the sunset,” Dean says, pointing to where the sun is starting to sink down in front of them. “But along the sides of the house, or maybe in window boxes or something, you could plant whatever you want. Do some research about which flowers attract the most bees. Plant some vegetables to shove down my throat so I live longer. Spend the mornings down in the dirt, digging and weeding while I sit on the deck and perv on how hot your ass looks in your broken-in jeans.”

He gets a fond smile for that and a kiss to his jaw that makes his insides flutter.

“But only if you want this too,” Dean says. “If a bad ass angel like you could be happy with a simple, boring life. Just you and me, a couple of middle-aged men sleeping in late, puttering around the house, spending our days taking care of the lawn, watching TV, arguing over music, gardening, baking, taking Baby for a spin out on the open road whenever I get restless.”

“I think you just described my heaven,” Cas replies, kissing the apple of his cheek. “I’ve dreamed about how your freckles might spread across your cheeks, along your back, and over your shoulders after an afternoon spent in the sun.”

“You sappy bastard,” Dean says, though his insides are as warm as they’ve ever been.

“You love it,” Cas says smugly.

“I love _you,_ angel.” Cas makes a humming sound and kisses the corner of his mouth. “Marry me.” Cas freezes, pulls back, looks at him with those blue eyes all wide and full of surprise and hope. He dips his hand into the picnic basket while he talks, searching for the little box he slipped inside before they left. “I know we can’t really—not legally anyway—but it would be real for me.”

Finally finding the box he was looking for, he pushes up into a sitting position before settling down on one knee. Cas is sitting up now too, ankles crossed with his lips parted, his blue eyes crystal clear in the sunlight, gazing up at him with so much love inside of them he knows he’ll never fully comprehend how much even if they do have another fifteen years together. It gives him the courage to say what he needs to say, what Cas deserves to hear him say when he’s down on one knee in front of him.

 

 

“You’re it for me, Cas. It’s been you for ten damn years and it’s gonna be you for the rest of my life. I found everything I never knew I wanted in a dorky angel in a trench coat—” Cas’s sideways smile buoys his spirits even more. “—and now I can’t imagine my life without you in it.” He licks his lips nervously. “I wanna live long enough to get old and gray, and I wanna do it because of you, _with you,_ Cas.” He flips the lid of the box open, showing Cas the two rings inside. “I wanna exchange these rings, knowing when we put them on that I’m yours and you’re mine. Forever.” He swallows down the lump in his throat and blinks away the tears that are filling his eyes. He was an idiot for betting Sam he’d be able to get through this without crying. “Whether forever is a week from now or another thirty years, I have no idea and it doesn’t really matter because I know either way it’s always gonna be you, Cas. Be my husband.”

Cas’s eyes are glittering with unshed tears too, and even though he knew what Cas was gonna say, hearing Cas’s voice rough with emotion as he pronounces this one syllable word is the best moment of his entire life.

“Yes.”

He closes his eyes as more joy than he’s ever felt rushes through him in an instant, and then Cas’s lips are on his and his big hands are framing his face, and the happiness inside of him grows bigger and brighter than anything he could’ve imagined. His cheeks are wet, and Cas’s thumbs are brushing away his tears, and he’s laughing against Cas’s lips as more tears leak down his face, and it’s fucking _perfect._ Cas is perfect, his touch is perfect, this moment is perfect, and it leads to an entirely new kiss for them.

This kiss is technically very, very flawed. Their lips are anything but in sync. One of them kisses while the other one laughs, gasps, or smiles, and then they switch it up and do the opposite. It tastes salty with tears, bitter with a hint of beer, and it’s hands-down the best kiss of his life.

But then he sees blue behind his eyelids and Cas’s grace is seeping inside of him, brighter and happier than he’s ever felt it, and _god,_ it’s so much better than it was only a second ago. He’ll never understand why Cas loves him so much but it’s literally right there inside of him while their lips line up and it’s fucking staggering. He sinks into the kiss, against Cas’s plump lips, savoring every second of their first kiss as husbands...

He applies pressure to Cas’s shoulder and pushes him back, breaking the seal of their lips as he realizes he still has the box in his hand with both rings inside of it. He looks down at it, at the way the sun catches on the rusty gold rim of Cas’s ring, how it dances along the silver honeycomb pattern.

“Thought it was gonna take me forever to pick the right ring,” he admits. “But I saw these and it reminded me of the bee charm from your collar, and I knew they were ours.”

“I love them.”

He pulls the gold and silver band from the box and holds Cas’s hand with his. His heart fills when he rotates the ring so Cas can see the inside, where he had the words _my heart_ engraved. Cas’s eyes fill with tears all over again, and Dean’s are blurry when he slips his ring onto Cas’s finger. It’s loose, too big, but that’s okay. It’s still perfect.

Cas exhales a watery sigh and then reaches for Dean’s ring. It’s the same style as Cas’s, but plain silver, still with the honeycomb pattern along the center. He doesn’t have to ask Cas to check for the engraving, which says _ol monons_ inside, because he knows he’s read it when a happy sound is torn from Cas’s lips.

 

 

“It’s perfect for you,” he says quietly. Reverently. “It would be the greatest honor of my life to be your husband and grow old by your side.” Cas is sliding the ring onto his finger, his blue eyes never leaving Dean’s, even as Dean starts openly crying as it sinks in what this really means. _Forever._ “Though it seems impossible for my love to grow any bigger, I promise I will find a way to love you more tomorrow than I do today, and every day for the rest of my life.”

“Cas,” he breathes, looking down at their matching wedding bands. “I love you.”

“And I love you, _ol monons._ Eternally.”

Their lips come together once more, and he’s really losing himself in it, feeling their chests brush and Cas’s arms slide down his back. His hands move from Cas’s face back into his hair, Cas’s hands push up his shirt, and he moans when he feels the cool press of metal on his skin from the ring on Cas’s finger for the first time.

They both make sounds of surprise when their ill-fitting bands heat up, and that’s Dean’s reminder that they aren’t nearly as alone as he let himself believe. He barely gets out, “Oh yeah—” before he’s interrupted by clapping and a chorus of three voices shouting.

“CONGRATULATIONS!”

Cas looks behind them to where Jack, Mary, and Sam are all running towards them. His mom has champagne in her hands and both Sam and Jack have glasses. They all take turns hugging one another and showing off their rings (which fit now thanks to the help from Jack), and when the cork pops and Sam proposes a toast, he’s sure nobody’s ever been as happy as he is right now.

He watches the man his little brother has grown into lift his champagne flute with pride. He looks at his mom, who still has stray tears streaming down her face, and at Jack, who’s wearing a proud smile of his own. Then his fingers find Cas’s and that’s it. He’s fucking elated, he’s home, he has everything he’s ever wanted.

“To pussy,” Sam announces, a huge smile on his face.

“Sam!” Mom gasps, glaring at him with horror.

Sam ignores her and continues, “And it being the unlikely but undeniable thing that brought you two knuckleheads together.”

Dean, Cas, and Jack are all grinning when they raise their glasses and echo, “To pussy.”

The bubbles are exploding in his mouth when his mom’s bewildered voice repeats, “To pussy,” and as a laugh is startled out of him, champagne comes out his nose.

Only a minute later another one of his dreams comes true when he gets to see Cas laugh so hard he can’t breathe for the first time, and even though he’s thought it ten times in the last ten minutes, he’s really never been happier.

He goes to bed that night entirely sated with a warm, sturdy body wrapped around him and soft, dry lips pressing kisses to the nape of his neck. His shoulder. The freckle beneath his ear. It’s the same way he goes to sleep every night, and he still basks in it. He lies there lazily for long minutes trying not to doze off too quickly, wanting to remember every loving touch, quiet sigh, and whispered declaration of love from his new husband.

He’s just about to fall asleep when he hears a final. "Goodnight, Dean,"and he rolls over and finds Cas’s lips for the last kiss of the day.

He drifts off thinking that kiss was definitely his favorite, feeling happy, safe, and loved. Which is the exact same way he falls asleep every night for the rest of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. This was surprisingly cathartic. 
> 
> I think most of us know (or at least suspect) that we won't be getting a happy ending like this in Supernatural when it ends this season, so I hope reading this allowed you to indulge in "happily ever after" feels for Team Free Will 2.0. Because I went with this silly cat idea and followed where it took me, I know what it looks like to see Dean realize his life is worth living, and for me at least, that's been the absolute best part of writing this. In my head, this is how TFW2.0 live out the rest of their lives. Working together to help other hunters, happy and in love, watching the sun set on a couple of rocking chairs. After all, I can't think of a better ending for the guys who have saved the world.
> 
> I sincerely doubt I will ever write another full-length story in canon, so I hope you enjoyed this one as much as I did.
> 
> I want to take another second to thank [Nikkole](https://twitter.com/NP_Infiniteart) for all of the art in this story. She made my words come to life before my eyes, and honestly, impressed the shit out of me with how quickly she was able to get these truly magnificent art pieces completed. If you haven't already, please go follow her on social media and check out her RedBubble page where you can see the Catstiel merch she has up!
> 
> With all of that said, I'm already working on my next few AU stories! I have broken my own rule and currently have three stories in the works, so it shouldn't be long before something pops up. Make sure to either subscribe to me here or follow me on Twitter on my personal account [here](https://twitter.com/tricia_16__) or my fanfic account [here,](https://twitter.com/tricia_16fanfic) where I often talk about my stories, post sneak peeks, and ask for input. I LOVE getting to know the people who read my stuff, so please don't be shy!
> 
> Lastly, if you liked this story, here are three other "canon" stories I've written that you might enjoy:
> 
> [Every Story Has to Start Somewhere](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10703823/chapters/23709474)  
> [Sparks Fly](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13618434)  
> [Maybe Someday](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14737805/chapters/34069937)
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


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